Alberti 'On Painting' - Notes 1-6
Alberti, Leon Battista. On Painting. [First appeared 1435-36] Translated with 
Introduction and Notes by John R. Spencer. New Haven: Yale University Press. 
1970 [First printed 1956]. 
P  r  o  l  o  g  u  e[1]

I used to marvel and at the same time to grieve that so many excellent and 
superior arts and sciences from our most vigorous antique past could now seem 
lacking and almost wholly lost. We know from [remaining] works and through 
references to them that they were once widespread. Painters, sculptors, 
architects, musicians, geometricians, rhetoricians, seers and similar noble and 
amazing intellects are very rarely found today and there are few to praise them. 
Thus I believed, as many said, that Nature, the mistress of things, had grown 
old and tired. She no longer produced either geniuses or giants which in her 
more youthful and more glorious days she had produced so marvelously and 
abundantly. 
Since then, I have been brought back here [to Florence]--from the long exile [2] 
in which we Alberti have grown old--into this our city, adorned above all 
others. I have come to understand that in many men, but especially in you, 
Filippo, and in our close friend Donato the sculptor and in others like Nencio, 
Luca and Massaccio, [3] there is a genius for [accomplishing] every praiseworthy 
thing. For this they should not be slighted in favour of anyone famous in 
antiquity in these arts. Therefore, I believe the power of acquiring wide fame 
in any art or science [4] lies in our industry and diligence more than in the 
times or in the gifts of nature. It must be [p. 39] admitted that it was less 
difficult for the Ancients--because they had models to imitate and from which 
they could learn--to come to a knowledge of those supreme arts which today are 
most difficult for us. Our fame ought to be much greater, then, if we discover 
unheard-of and never-before-seen arts and sciences without teachers or without 
any model whatsoever. Who could ever be hard or envious enough to fail to praise 
Pippo the architect on seeing here such a large structure, rising above the 
skies, ample to cover with its shadow all the Tuscan people, and constructed 
without the aid of centering or great quantity of wood? [5] Since this work 
seems impossible of execution in our time, if I judge rightly, it was probably 
unknown and unthought of among the Ancients. But there will be other places, 
Filippo, to tell of your fame, of the virtues of our Donato, and of the others 
who are most pleasing to me by their deeds. 
As you work from day to day, you persevere in discovering things through which 
your extraordinary genius acquires perpetual fame. If you find the leisure, it 
would please me if you should look again at this my little work On Painting [6] 
which I set into Tuscan for your renown. You will see three books; the first, 
all mathematics, concerning the roots in nature which are the source of this 
delightful and most noble art. The second book puts the art in the hand of the 
artist, distinguishing its parts and demonstrating all. The third introduces the 
artist to the means and the end, the ability and the desire of acquiring perfect 
skill and knowledge in painting. May it please you, then, to read me with 
diligence. if anything here seems to you to need emending, correct me. There was 
never a writer so learned to whom erudite friends were not useful. I in 
particular desire to be corrected by you in order not to be pecked at by 
detractors. [pp. 39-40] 

NotebookNotebook, 1993- 
Alberti 'On Painting' - Notes 7-47 - Notes 48-52
Alberti, Leon Battista. On Painting. [First appeared 1435-36] Translated with 
Introduction and Notes by John R. Spencer. New Haven: Yale University Press. 
1970 [First printed 1956]. 
B  o  o  k     O  n  e

To make clear my exposition in writing this brief commentary on painting, I will 
take first from the mathematicians those things with which my subject is 
concerned. When they are understood, I will enlarge on the art of painting from 
its first principles in nature in so far as I am able. 
In all this discussion, I beg you to consider me not as a mathematician but as a 
painter writing of these things. Mathematicians measure with their minds alone 
the forms of things separated from all matter. Since we wish the object to be 
seen, we will use a more sensate wisdom. [7] We will consider our aim 
accomplished if the reader can understand in any way this admittedly difficult 
subject--and, so far as I know, a subject never before treated. Therefore, I beg 
that my words be interpreted solely as those of a painter. 
I say, first of all, we ought to know that a point is a figure which cannot be 
divided into parts. I call a figure here anything located on a plane so the eye 
can see it. No one would deny that the painter has nothing to do with things 
that are not visible. [8] The painter is concerned solely with representing what 
can be seen. These points, if they are joined one to the other in a row, will 
form a line. With us a line is a figure whose length can be divided but whose 
width is so fine that it cannot be split. Some lines are called straight, others 
curved. A straight line is drawn [p. 43] directly from one point to another as 
an extended point. The curved line is not straight from one point to another but 
rather looks like a drawn bow. [9] More lines, like threads woven together in a 
cloth, make a plane. [10] The plane is that certain external part of a body 
which is known not by its depth but only by its length and breadth and by its 
quality. Some qualities remain permanently on the plane in such a manner that 
they cannot be changed without altering the plane itself. Other qualities are 
such that, due to visual effects, they seem to change to the observer even 
though the plane remains the same. 
Permanent qualities are of two kinds. One is known by the outermost boundary 
[11] which encloses the plane and may be terminated by one or more lines. Some 
are circular, others are a curved and a straight line or several straight lines 
together. The circular is that which encloses a circle. A circle is that form of 
a plane which an entire line encircles like a garland. If a point is established 
in the middle, all lines from this point to the garland will be equal. This 
point in the middle is called the centre. A straight line which covers the point 
and cuts the circle into two parts is called the diameter among mathematicians, 
but I prefer to call it the centric line. Let us agree with the mathematicians 
who say that no line cuts equal angles on the circumference unless it is a 
straight line which covers the centre. 
But let us return to the plane. It is clear that as the movement [12] of the 
outline is changed the plane changes both name and appearance so that it is now 
called a triangle, now a quadrangle and now a polygon. The outline is said to be 
changed if the lines are more or less lengthened or shortened, or better, if the 
angles are made more acute or more obtuse. It would be well to speak of angles 
here. 
I call angles the certain extremity of a plane made of two lines which cut each 
other. There are three kinds of angles; right, obtuse, acute. A right angle is 
one of four made by two straight lines where one cuts the other in such a way 
that each [p. 44] of the angles is equal to the others. From this it is said 
that all right angles are equal. The obtuse angle is that which is greater than 
the right, and that which is lesser is called acute. 
Again let us return to the plane. Let us agree that so long as the lines and the 
angles of the outline do not change, the plane will remain the same. We have 
then demonstrated a quality which is never separated from the plane. 
We have now to treat of other qualities which rest like a skin [13] over all the 
surface of the plane. These are divided into three sorts. Some planes are flat, 
others are hollowed out, and others are swollen outward and are spherical. To 
these a fourth may be added which is composed of any two of the above. The flat 
plane is that which a straight ruler will touch in every part if drawn over it. 
The surface of the water is very similar to this. The spherical plane is similar 
to the exterior of a sphere. We say the sphere is a round body, continuous in 
every part; any part on the extremity of that body is equidistant from its 
centre. The hollowed plane is within and under the outermost extremities of the 
spherical plane as in the interior of an egg shell. The compound plane is in one 
part flat and in another hollowed or spherical like those on the interior of 
reeds or on the exterior of columns. [14] 
The outline and the surface, [15] then, give their names to the plane but there 
are two qualities by which the plane is not altered, [although it appears to 
be]. These take their variations from the changing of place and of light. Let us 
speak first of place, then of light, and investigate in what manner the 
qualities of the plane appear to change. 
This has to do with the power of sight, for as soon as the observer changes his 
position these planes appear larger, of a different outline or of a different 
colour. All of [these qualities] are measured with sight. Let us investigate the 
reasons for this, beginning with the maxims of philosophers who affirm that the 
plane is measured by rays that serve the sight--called by them visual 
rays--which carry the form of the thing seen to the [p. 45] sense. [16] For 
these same rays extended between the eye and the plane seen come together very 
quickly by their own force and by a certain marvellous subtlety, penetrating the 
air and thin and clear objects they strike against something dense and opaque, 
where they strike with a point and adhere to the mark they make. Among the 
ancients there was no little dispute whether these rays come from the eye or the 
plane. This dispute is very difficult and is quite useless for us. It will not 
be considered. We can imagine those rays to be like the finest hairs of the 
head, or like a bundle, tightly bound within the eye where the sense of sight 
has its seat. The rays, gathered together within the eye, are like a stalk; the 
eye is like a bud which extends its shoots rapidly and in a straight line on the 
plane opposite. [17] 
Among these rays there are differences in strength and function which must be 
recognized. Some of these rays strike the outline of the plane and measure its 
quantity. Since they touch the ultimate and extreme parts of the plane, we can 
call them the extreme or, if you prefer, extrinsic. Other rays which depart from 
the surface of the plane for the eye fill the pyramid--of which we shall speak 
more later--with the colours and brilliant lights with which the plane gleams; 
these are called median rays. Among these visual rays there is one which is 
called the centric. Where this one touches the plane, it makes equal the right 
angles all around it. It is called centric for the same reason as the 
aforementioned centric line. [18] 
We have found three different sorts of rays: extreme, median and centric. Now 
let us investigate how each ray affects the sight. First we shall speak of the 
extreme, then of the median, finally of the centric. 
With the extreme rays quantity is measured. All space on the plane that is 
between any two paints on the outline is called quantity. The eye measures these 
quantities with the visual rays as with a pair of compasses. In every plane 
there are as many quantities as there are spaces between point and point. Height 
from top to bottom, width from left to right, breadth from near to far and 
whatever other dimension or measure which is made [p. 46] by sight makes use of 
the extreme rays. For this reason it is said that vision makes a triangle. The 
base of [this triangle] is the quantity seen and the sides are those rays which 
are extended from the quantity to the eye. It is, therefore, very certain that 
no quantity can be seen without the triangle. The angles in this visual triangle 
are first, the two paints of the quantity, the third, that which is opposite the 
base and located within the eye. [19] Nor is this the place to discuss whether 
vision, as it is called, resides at the juncture of the inner nerve or whether 
images are formed on the surface of the eye as on a living mirror. The function 
of the eyes in vision need not be considered in this place. It will be enough in 
this commentary to demonstrate briefly things that are essential. 
Here is a rule: as the angle within the eye becomes more acute, so the quantity 
seen appears smaller. From this it is clear why a very distant quantity seems to 
be no larger than a point. Even though this is so, it is possible to find some 
quantities and planes of which the less is seen when they are closer and more 
when they are farther away. The proof of this is found in spherical bodies. 
Therefore, the quantities, through distance, appear either larger or smaller. 
Anyone who understands what has already been said will understand, I believe, 
that as the interval is changed the extrinsic rays become median and in the same 
manner the median extrinsic. He will understand also that where the median rays 
are made extrinsic that quantity will appear smaller. And the contrary: when the 
extreme rays are directed within the outline, as the outline is more distant, so 
much the quantity seen will seem greater. Here I usually give my friends a 
similar rule: as more rays are used in seeing, so the thing seen appears 
greater; and the fewer the rays, the smaller. 
The extrinsic rays, thus encircling the plane--one touching the other--enclose 
all the plane like the willow wands of a basket-cage, and make, as is said, this 
visual pyramid. It is time for me to describe what this pyramid is and how it is 
constructed by these rays. I will describe it in my own way. [20] The pyramid is 
a figure of a body from whose base straight lines are [p. 47] drawn upward, 
terminating in a single point. The base of this pyramid is a plane which is 
seen. The sides of the pyramid are those rays which I have called extrinsic. The 
cuspid, that is the point of the pyramid, is located within the eye where the 
angle of the quantity is. Up to this point we have talked of the extrinsic rays 
of which this pyramid is constructed. It seems to me that we have demonstrated 
the varied effects of greater and lesser distances from the eye to the thing 
seen. 
Median rays, that multitude in the pyramid [which lie] within the extrinsic 
rays, remain to be treated. These behave, in a manner of speaking, like the 
chameleon, an animal which takes to itself the colours of things near it. Since 
these rays carry both the colours and lights on the plane from where they touch 
it up to the eye, they should be found lighted and coloured in a definite way 
wherever they are broken. The proof of this is that through a great distance 
they become weakened. I think the reason may be that weighted down with light 
and colour they pass through the air, which, being humid with a certain 
heaviness, tires the laden rays. From this we can draw a rule: as the distance 
becomes greater, so the plane seen appears more hazy. The central ray now 
remains to be treated. The central ray is that single one which alone strikes 
the quantity directly, and about which every angle is equal. This ray, the most 
active and the strongest of all the rays, acts so that no quantity ever appears 
greater than when struck by it. We could say many things about this ray, but 
this will be enough--tightly encircled by the other rays, it is the last to 
abandon the thing seen, from which it merits the name, prince of rays. 
I think I have clearly demonstrated that as the distance and the position of the 
central ray are changed the plane appears altered. Therefore, the distance and 
the position of the central ray are of greatest importance to the certainty of 
sight. 
There is yet a third thing which makes the plane appear to change. This comes 
from the reception of light. You see that spherical and concave planes have one 
part dark and anther [p. 48] bright when receiving light. Even though the 
distance and position of the centric line are the same, when the light is moved 
those parts which were first bright now become dark, and those bright which were 
dark. Where there are more lights, according to their number and strength, you 
see more spots of light and dark. 
This reminds me to speak of both colour and light It seems obvious to me that 
colours take their variations from light, because all colours put in the shade 
appear different from what they are in the light. Shade makes colour dark; 
light, where it strikes, makes colour bright. The philosophers say that nothing 
can be seen which is not illuminated and coloured. Therefore, they assert that 
there is a close relationship between light and colour in making each other 
visible. The importance of this is easily demonstrated for [21] when light is 
lacking colour is lacking and when light returns the colours return. Therefore, 
it seems to me that I should speak first of colours; then I shall investigate 
how they vary under light. [22] Let us omit the debate of philosophers where the 
original source of colours is investigated, for what help is it for a painter to 
know in what mixture of rare and dense, warm and dry, cold and moist colour 
exists? However, I do not despise those philosophers who thus dispute about 
colours and establish the kinds of colours at seven. White and black [are] the 
two extremes of colour. Another [is established] between them. Then between each 
extreme and the middle they place a pair of colours as though undecided about 
the boundary, because one philosopher allegedly knows more about the extreme 
than the other. It is enough for the painter to know what the colours are and 
how to use them in painting. I do not wish to be contradicted by the experts, 
who, while they follow the philosophers, assert that there are only two colours 
in nature, white and black, and there are others created from mixtures of these 
two. As a painter I think thus about colours. From a mixture of colours almost 
infinite others are created. I speak here as a painter. 
Through the mixing of colours infinite other colours are born, but there are 
only four true colours--as there are four [p. 49] elements--from which more and 
more other kinds of colours may be thus created. Red is the colour of fire, blue 
of the air, green of the water, and of the earth grey and ash. [23] Other 
colours, such as jasper and porphyry, are mixtures of these. Therefore, there 
are four genera of colours, and these make their species [24] according to the 
addition of dark or light, black or white. They are thus almost innumerable. We 
see green fronds lose their greenness little by little until they finally become 
pale. Similarly, it is not unusual to see a whitish vapour in the air around the 
horizon which fades out little by little [as one looks towards the zenith]. We 
see some roses which are quite purple, others are like the cheeks of young 
girls, [25] others ivory. In the same way the earth [en colour], according to 
white and black, makes its own species of colours. 
Therefore, the mixing of white does not change the genus of colours but forms 
the species. Black contains a similar force in its mixing to make almost 
infinite species of colour. In shadows colours are altered. As the shadow 
deepens the colours empty out, and as the light increases the colours become 
more open and clear. For this reason the painter ought to be persuaded that 
white and black are not true colours but are alterations of other colours. The 
painter will find no thing with which to represent the brightest luster of light 
but white and in the same manner only black to indicate the shadows. I should 
like to add that one will never find black and white unless they are [mixed] 
with one of these four colours. 
Here follow my remarks on light. Some lights are from the stars, as from the 
sun, from the moon and that other beautiful star Venus. [26] Other lights are 
from fires, but among these there are many differences. The light from the stars 
makes the shadow equal to the body, but fire makes it greater. 
Shadow in which the rays of light are interrupted remains to be treated. The 
interrupted rays either return from whence they came or are directed elsewhere. 
They are directed elsewhere, when, touching the surface of the water, they 
strike the rafters [p. 50] of a house. More can be said about this reflection 
which has to do with these miracles of painting which many of my friends have 
seen done by me recently in Rome. [27] It is enough [to say] here that these 
reflected rays carry with themselves the colour they find on the plane. You may 
have noticed that anyone who walks through a meadow in the sun appears greenish 
in the face. 
Up to this point we have talked of planes and rays; we have said how a pyramid 
is made in vision; we have proved the importance of distance and position of the 
centric ray together with the reception of light. Now, since in a single glance 
not only one plane but several are seen, we will investigate in what way many 
conjoined [planes] are seen. Each plane contains in itself its pyramid of 
colours and lights. Since bodies are covered with planes, all the planes of a 
body seen at one glance will make a pyramid packed [28] with as many smaller 
pyramids as there are planes. 
Some will say here of what use to the painter is such an investigation? I think 
every painter, if he wishes to be a great master, ought to understand clearly 
the similarities and the distinctions [29] of the planes, a thing known to very 
few. Should you ask some what they are doing when they cover a plane with 
colours, they will answer everything but what you ask. Therefore, I beg studious 
painters not to be embarrassed by what I say here. It is never wrong to learn 
something useful to know from anyone. They should know that they circumscribe 
the plane with their lines. When they fill the circumscribed places with 
colours, they should only seek to present the forms of things seen on this plane 
as if it were of transparent glass. Thus the visual pyramid could pass through 
it, placed at a definite distance with definite lights and a definite position 
of centre in space and in a definite place in respect to the observer. Each 
painter, endowed with his natural instinct, [30] demonstrates this when, in 
painting this plane, he places himself at a distance as if searching the point 
and angle of the pyramid from which point he understands the thing painted is 
best seen. [p. 51] 
Where this is a single plane, either a wall or a panel on which the painter 
attempts to depict several planes comprised in the visual pyramid, it would be 
useful to cut through this pyramid in some definite place, so the painter would 
be able to express in painting similar outlines and colours with his lines. He 
who looks at a picture, done as I have described [above], will see a certain 
cross-section of a visual pyramid, artificially represented with lines and 
colours on a certain plane according to a given distance, centre and lights. 
Now, since we have said that the picture is a cross-section of the pyramid we 
ought to investigate what importance this cross-section has for us. Since we 
have these knowns, we now have new principles with which to reason about the 
plane from which we have said the pyramid issues. 
I say that some planes are thrown back on the earth and lie like pavements or 
the floors of buildings; others are equidistant to these. Some stand propped up 
on their sides like walls; other planes are collinear to these walls. Planes are 
equidistant when the distance between one and the other is equal in all its 
parts. Collinear planes are those which a straight line will touch equally in 
ever part as in the faces of quadrangular pilasters placed in a row in a 
portico. [31] These things are to be added to our treatment of the plane, 
intrinsic and extrinsic and centric rays and the pyramid. Let us add the axiom 
of the mathematicians where it is proved that if a straight line cuts two sides 
of a triangle, and if this line which forms a triangle is parallel to a side of 
the first and greater triangle, certainly this lesser triangle will be 
proportional to the greater. So much say the mathematicians. 
I shall speak in a broader manner to make my statements clearer. It is useful to 
know what the term proportional means. Proportional triangles are said to be 
those whose sides and angles contain a ratio to each other. If one side of a 
triangle is two times as long as its base and the other side three, every single 
triangle--whether larger or smaller, but having this same [p. 52] relationship 
to its base--will be proportional to this first, because the ratio which is in 
every part of the smaller triangle is also the same in the larger. Therefore, 
all triangles thus composed will be proportional to each other. [32] To 
understand this better we will use a simile. A small man is proportional to a 
larger one, because the same proportions between the palm and the foot, the foot 
and the other parts of the body were in Evander as in Hercules whom Aulus 
Gellius considered to be the largest of men. [33] There was no difference in the 
proportions of the bodies of Hercules and Antaeus the giant, for both contained 
the same ratio and arrangement of hand to forearm, forearm to head and thus 
through all the members. In the same way a measure is found by which a smaller 
triangle is equal to a greater--except in size. Here I must insist with the 
mathematicians, in so far as it pertains to us, that the intercision of any 
triangle, if it is parallel to the base makes a new triangle proportionate to 
the larger one. Things which are proportional to each other correspond in every 
part, but where they are different and the parts do not correspond they are 
certainly not proportional. 
As I have said, the parts of the visual triangle are rays. These will be equal, 
as to number, in proportionate quantities and unequal in non-proportional, 
because one of the non-proportional quantities will occupy more or less rays. 
You see, then, how a lesser triangle can be proportional to a greater, and you 
have already learned that the visual pyramid is composed of triangles. 
Now let us translate our thinking to the pyramid. We should be persuaded that no 
quantities equidistant to the cross-section can make any alteration in the 
picture, because they are similar to their proportionates in every equidistant 
intercision. From this it follows that when the quantity with which the outline 
is constructed is not changed, there will be no alteration of the same outline 
in the picture. It is now manifest that every cross-section of the visual 
pyramid which is equidistant to the plane [p. 53] of the thing seen will be 
proportional to that observed plane. [34] 
We have talked about the plane proportional to the cross-section, that is, 
equidistant, to the painted plane; but since many planes are found to be 
non-equidistant, we ought to make a diligent investigation of these in order 
that our reasoning about the cross-section may be clear. It would be long, 
difficult and obscure in these cross-sections of triangles and pyramids to 
follow everything with the rule of mathematics, so let us rather continue 
speaking as painters. I shall treat most briefly of the non-equidistant 
quantities. When they are known, we will easily understand the non-equidistant 
planes. 
Some non-equidistant quantities [35] are collinear to the visual rays, others 
are equidistant to the visual rays. Quantities collinear to the visual rays have 
no place in the cross-section, because they do not make a triangle nor do they 
occupy a number of rays. In quantities equidistant to the visual rays, as the 
angle which is greatest in the triangle is more obtuse at the base, so that 
quantity will occupy fewer rays and for this reason less space in the 
cross-section. We have said concerning this that the plane is covered with 
quantities, but it happens frequently that there are several quantities in a 
plane equidistant to the cross-section. Quantities so composed will certainly 
make no alteration in the picture. In such quantities which are truly 
non-equidistant the greater the angle at the base the greater alteration they 
will make. 
 

 
B  o  o  k     T  w  o

Because this [process of] learning may perhaps appear a fatiguing thing to young 
people, I ought to prove here that painting is not unworthy of consuming all our 
time and study. 
Painting contains a divine force which not only makes absent men present, as 
friendship is said to do, [1] but moreover makes the dead seem almost alive. 
Even after many centuries they are recognized with great pleasure and with great 
admiration for the painter. Plutarch says that Cassander, one of the captains of 
Alexander, trembled through all his body because he saw a portrait of his King. 
[2] Agesilaos, the Lacedaemonian, never permitted anyone to paint him or to 
represent him in sculpture; his own form so displeased him that he avoided being 
known by those who would come after him. [3] Thus the face of a man who is 
already dead certainly lives a long life through painting. Some think that 
painting shaped the gods who were adored by the nations. It certainly was their 
greatest gift to mortals, for painting is most useful to that piety [4] which 
joins us to the gods and keeps our souls full of religion. They say that Phidias 
made in Aulis a god Jove so beautiful that it considerably strengthened the 
religion then current. [5] 
The extent to which painting contributes to the most honorable delights of the 
soul and to the dignified beauty of things can be clearly seen not only from 
other things but [p. 63] especially from this: you can conceive of almost 
nothing so precious which is not made far richer and much more beautiful by 
association with painting. Ivory, gems and similar expensive things become more 
precious when worked by the hand of the painter. Gold worked by the art of 
painting outweighs an equal amount of unworked gold. If figures were made by the 
hand of Phidias or Praxiteles from lead itself--the lowest of metals--they would 
be valued more highly than silver. The painter, Zeuxis, began to give away his 
things because, as he said, they could not be bought. [6] He did not think it 
possible to come to a just price which would be satisfactory to the painter, for 
in painting animals he set himself up almost as a god. 
Therefore, painting contains within itself this virtue that any master painter 
who sees his works adored will feel himself considered another god. Who can 
doubt that painting is the master art or at least not a small ornament of 
things? The architect, if I am not mistaken, takes from the painter architraves, 
bases, capitals, columns, façades and other similar things. All the smiths, 
sculptors, shops and guilds are governed by the rules and art of the painter. It 
is scarcely possible to find any superior art which is not concerned with 
painting. [7] so that whatever beauty is found can be said to be born of 
painting . [8] Moreover, painting was given the highest honour by our ancestors. 
For, although almost all other artists were called craftsmen, the painter alone 
was not considered in that category. For this reason, I say among my friends 
that Narcissus who was changed into a flower, according to the poets, was the 
inventor of panting. Since painting is already the flower of every art, the 
story of Narcissus is most to the point. What else can you call painting but a 
similar embracing with art of what is presented on the surface of the water in 
the fountain? 
Quintilian said that the ancient painters used to circumscribe shadows cast by 
the sun, and from this our art has grown. [9] There are those who say that a 
certain Philocles, an Egyptian, and a Cleantes were among the first inventors of 
this art. The Egyptians affirm that painting was in use among them a good [p. 
64] 6000 years before it was carried into Greece. [10] They say that painting 
was brought to us from Greece after the victory of Marcellus over Sicily. [11] 
But we are not interested in knowing who was the inventor of the art or the 
first painter, since we are not telling stories like Pliny. We are, however, 
building anew an art of painting about which nothing, as I see it, has been 
written in this age. They say the Euphranor of Isthmus wrote something about 
measure and about colours, that Antigonos and Xenocrates exchanged [12] 
something in their letters about painting, and that Apelles wrote to Pelleus 
about painting. Diogenes Laertius recounts that Demetrius made commentaries on 
painting. [13] Since all the other arts were recommended in letters by our great 
men, and since painting was not neglected by our Latin writers, I believe that 
our ancient Tuscan [ancestors] were already most expert masters in painting. 
Trismegistus, an ancient writer, judged that painting and sculpture were born at 
the same time as religion, [14] for thus he answered Aesclepius: mankind 
portrays the gods in his own image from his memories of nature and his own 
origins. Who can here deny that in all things public and private, profane and 
religious, painting has taken all the most honourable parts to itself so that 
nothing has ever been so esteemed by mortals? 
The incredible esteem in which painted panels have been held has been recorded. 
Aristides the Theban sold a single picture for one hundred talents. They say 
that Rhodes was not burned by King Demetrius for fear that a painting of 
Protogenes' should perish. [15] It could be said that the city of Rhodes was 
ransomed from the enemy by a single painting. Pliny [16] collected many other 
such things in which you can see that good painters have always been greatly 
honoured by all. The most noble citizens, philosophers and quite a few kings not 
only enjoyed painted things but also painted with their own hands. Lucius 
Manilius, Roman citizen, and Fabius, a most noble man, were painters. Turpilius, 
a Roman Knight, painted at Verona. Sitedius, praetor and proconsul, acquired 
renown as a [p. 65] painter. Pacuvius, tragic poet and nephew of the poet 
Ennius, painted Hercules in the Roman forum. Socrates, Plato, Metrodorus, Pyrrho 
were connoisseurs of painting. The emperors Nero, Valentinian, and Alexander 
Severus were most devoted to painting. It would be too long, however, to recount 
here how many princes and kings were pleased by painting. Nor does it seem 
necessary to me to recount all the throng of ancient painters. Their number is 
seen in the fact that 360 statues, part on horseback and part in chariots, were 
completed in four hundred days for Demetrius Phalerius, son of Phanostratus. 
[17] In a land in which there was such a great number of sculptors, can you 
believe that painters were lacking? I am certain that both these arts are 
related and nurtured by the same genius, painting with sculpture. But I always 
give higher rank to the genius of the painter because he works with more 
difficult things. 
However, let us return to our work. Certainly the number of sculptors and 
painters was great in those times when princes and plebeians, learned and 
unlearned enjoyed painting, and when painted panels and portraits, considered 
the choicest booty from the provinces, were set up in the theatre. Finally L. 
Paulus Aemilius [18] and not a few other Roman citizens taught their sons 
painting along with the fine arts and the art of living piously and well. This 
excellent custom was frequently observed among the Greeks who, because they 
wished their sons to be well educated, taught them painting along with geometry 
and music. It was also an honour among women to know how to paint. Martia, 
daughter of Varro, is praised by the writers because she knew how to paint. 
Painting had such reputation and honour among the Greeks that laws and edicts 
were passed forbidding slaves to learn painting. It was certainly well that they 
did this, for the art of painting has always been most worthy of liberal minds 
and noble souls. [19] 
As for me, I certainly consider a great appreciation of painting to be the best 
indication of a most perfect mind, even though it happens that this art is 
pleasing to the uneducated as [p. 66] well as to the educated. It occurs rarely 
in any other art that what delights the experienced also moves the 
inexperienced. In the same way you will find that many greatly desire to be well 
versed in painting. Nature herself seems to delight in painting, for in the cut 
faces of marble she often paints centaurs and faces of bearded and curly headed 
kings. It is said, moreover, that in a gem from Pyrrhus all nine Muses, each 
with her symbol, are be found clearly painted by nature. [20] Add to this that 
in no other art does it happen that both the experienced and the inexperienced 
of every age apply themselves so voluntarily to the learning and exercising of 
it. Allow me to speak of myself here. Whenever I turn to painting for my 
recreation, which I frequently do when I am tired of more pressing affairs, I 
apply myself to it with so much pleasure that I am surprised that three or four 
hours have passed. [21] Thus this art gives pleasure and praise to whoever is 
skilled in it; riches and perpetual fame to one who is master of it. Since these 
things are so, since painting is the best and most ancient ornament of things, 
worthy of free men, pleasing to learned and unlearned, I greatly encourage our 
studious youth to exert themselves as much as possible in painting. 
Therefore, I recommend that he who is devoted to painting should learn this art. 
The first great care of one who seeks to obtain eminence in painting is to 
acquire the fame and renown of the ancients. It is useful to remember that 
avarice is always the enemy of virtue. Rarely can anyone given to acquisition of 
wealth acquire renown. I have seen many in the first flower of learning suddenly 
sink to money-making. As a result they acquire neither riches nor praise. 
However, if they had increased their talent with study, they would have easily 
soared into great renown. Then they would have acquired much riches and 
pleasure. 
Enough has been said of this up to here. Let us return to our subject. Painting 
is divided into three parts; these divisions we have taken from nature. [p. 67] 
Since painting strives to represent things seen, let us note in what way things 
are seen. First, in seeing a thing, we say it occupies a place. Here the 
painter, in describing this space, will say this, his guiding an outline with a 
line, is circumscription. 
Then, looking at it again, we understand that several planes of the observed 
body belong together, and here the painter drawing them in their places will say 
that he is making a composition. 
Finally, we determine more clearly the colours and qualities of the planes. 
Since every difference in them is born from light, we can properly call their 
representation the reception of light. [22] 
Therefore, painting is composed of circumscription, composition and reception of 
light. In the following we shall treat of them most briefly. 
First we will treat of circumscription. Circumscription describes the turning of 
the outline [23] in the painting. It is said that Parrhasius, the painter who 
talked with Socrates in Xenophon, was most expert in this and had examined these 
lines carefully. I say that in this circumscription one ought to take great 
pains to make these lines so fine that they can scarcely be seen. The painter 
Apelles used to practice this and to compete with Protogenes. [24] Because 
circumscription is nothing but the drawing of the outline, which when done with 
too apparent a line does not indicate a margin of the plane but a neat cleavage, 
[25] I should desire that only the movement of the outline be inscribed. To 
this, I insist, one must devote a great amount of practice. No composition and 
no reception of light can be praised where there is not also a good 
circumscription--that is, a good drawing--which is most pleasant in itself. Here 
is a good aid for whoever wishes to make use of it. Nothing can be found, so I 
think, which is more useful than that veil which among my friends I call an 
intersection. [26] It is a thin veil, finely woven, dyed whatever colour pleases 
you and with larger threads [marking out] as many parallels as you prefer. This 
veil I place between the eye and the thing seen, so the visual pyramid [p. 68] 
penetrates through the thinness of the veil. This veil can be of great use to 
you. Firstly, it always presents to you the same unchanged plane. Where you have 
placed certain limits, you quickly find the true cuspid of the pyramid. This 
would certainly be difficult without the intersection. You know how impossible 
it is to imitate a thing which does not continue to present the same appearance, 
for it is easier to copy painting than sculpture. You know that as the distance 
and the position of the centre are changed, the thing you see seems greatly 
altered. Therefore the veil will be, as I said, very useful to you, since it is 
always the same thing in the process of seeing. Secondly, you will easily be 
able to constitute the limits of the outline and of the planes. [27] Here in 
this parallel you will see the forehead, in that the nose, in another the 
cheeks, in this lower one the chin and all outstanding features in their place. 
On panels or on walls, divided into similar parallels, you will be able to put 
everything in its place. Finally, the veil will greatly aid you in learning how 
to paint when you see in it round objects and objects in relief. By these things 
you will be able to test with experience and judgment how very useful our veil 
can be to you. 
Nor will I hear what some may say, that the painter should not use these things, 
because even though they are great aids in painting well, [they] may perhaps be 
so made that he will soon be able to do nothing without them. [28] I do not 
believe that infinite pains should be demanded of the painter, but paintings 
which appear in good relief and a good likeness of the subject should be 
expected. This I do not believe can ever be done without the use of the veil. 
Therefore, let us use this intersection, that is the veil, as we have said. 
Then, when a painter wishes to try his skill without the veil, he should note 
first the limits of objects within the parallels of the veil. Or he may study 
them in another manner by imagining a line intersected by its perpendicular 
wherever these limits are located. But since the outlines of the planes are 
frequently unknown to the inexpert [p. 69] painter--doubtful and uncertain as in 
the faces of man where he does not discern the distance between the forehead and 
the temples--it would be well to teach him how he can come to understand them. 
This is clearly demonstrated by nature. We see in flat planes that each one 
reveals itself by its lines, lights and shades. Again spherical concave planes 
are divided into many planes as if chequered with spots of light and shade. 
Therefore each part with its highlights, divided by those which are dark, would 
thus appear as many planes. However, if one continuous plane, beginning shadowy, 
becomes little by little lighter, then note the middle of it with a very fine 
line so that the method of colouring it will be less in doubt. 
Circumscription, [29] which pertains not a little to composition, remains to be 
treated. For this it is well to know what composition is in painting. I say 
composition is that rule in painting by which the parts fit together [30] in the 
painted work. The greatest work of the painter is the istoria. Bodies are part 
of the istoria, members are parts of the bodies, planes are parts of the 
members. Circumscription is nothing more than a certain rule for designing [31] 
the outline of the planes, since some planes are small as in animals, others are 
large as those of buildings and colossi. 
Concerning the small planes the precepts given up to here will be 
enough--precepts which we demonstrated when we learned how to use the veil. 
Perhaps we should find new rules for the larger planes. We must remember what 
has been said above in the instruction on planes, rays, the pyramid, the 
intersection, and on the parallels of the pavement, the centric point and line. 
On the pavement, drawn with its lines and parallels, walls and similar planes 
which we have called jacent are to be built. Here I will describe just briefly 
what I do. First I begin with the foundation. I place the width and the length 
of the wall in its parallels. In this laying out [32] I follow nature. I note 
that, in any squared body which has right angles, only two on joined sides can 
be seen at one time. I observe this in [p. 70] describing the foundations of the 
walls. I always commence first of all with the nearest plane, the greatest of 
those which are equidistant from the cross-section. These I put before the 
others, describing their width and height in those parallels of the pavement in 
such a way that for as many braccia as I choose they occupy as many parallels. 
To find the middle of each parallel, I find where the diameters mutually 
intersect. And thus, as I wish, I draw the foundations. Then the height follows 
by not at all difficult rules. I know the height of the wall contains in itself 
this proportion, that as much as it is from the place where it starts on the 
pavement to the centric line, so much it rises upwards. When you wish this 
quantity of the pavement up to the centric line to be the height of a man, there 
will, therefore, be these three braccia. Since you wish your wall to be twelve 
braccia, you go up three times the distance from the centric line to that place 
on the pavement. [33] With these rules we shall be able to draw all planes which 
have angles. 
The way in which circles are drawn remains to be treated. Circles are drawn from 
angles. I do it in this manner. In a space I make a quadrangle with right 
angles, and I divide the sides of this quadrangle in the painting. From each 
point to its opposite point I draw lines and thus the space is divided into many 
small quadrangles. Here I draw a circle as large as I want it so the lines of 
the small quadrangles and the lines of the circle cut each other mutually. I 
note all the points of this cutting; these places I mark on the parallels of the 
pavement in my painting. It would be an extreme and almost never-ending labour 
to divide the circle in many places with new minor parallels and with a great 
number of points to complete the circle. For this reason, when I have noted 
eight or more intersections, I continue the circle in the painting with my mind, 
guiding the lines from point to point. [34] Would it perhaps be briefer to 
derive it from a shadow? Certainly, if the body which made the shadow were in 
the middle, located by rule in its place. [p. 71] 
We have considered in what way with the aid of the parallels the large angular 
and round planes are drawn. Since we have finished the circumscription, that is 
the way of drawing. [35] composition remains to be treated. 
It would be well to repeat what composition is. Composition is that rule of 
painting by which the parts of the things seen fit together in the painting. The 
greatest work of the painter is not a colossus, but an istoria. Istoria gives 
greater renown to the intellect than any colossus. [36] Bodies are part of the 
istoria, members are parts of the bodies, planes part of the members. The 
primary parts of painting, therefore, are the planes. That grace in bodies which 
we call beauty is born from the composition of the planes. A face which has its 
planes here large and there small, here raised and there depressed--similar to 
the faces of old women--would be most ugly in appearance. Those faces which have 
the planes joined in such a way that they take shades and lights agreeable and 
pleasantly, and have no harshness of the relief angles, these we should 
certainly say are beautiful and delicate faces. 
Therefore, in this composition of planes grace and beauty of things should be 
intensely sought for. It seems to me that there is no more certain and fitting 
way for one who wishes to pursue this than to take them from nature, keeping in 
mind in what way nature, marvellous artificer of things, has composed the planes 
in beautiful bodies. In imitating these it is well both to take great care and 
to think deeply about them and to make great use of our above-mentioned veil. 
When we wish to put into practice what we have learned from nature, we will 
always first note the limits to which we shall draw our lines. 
Up to here we have talked of the composition of planes; members follow. First of 
all, take care that all the members are suitable. [37] They are suitable when 
size, function, [38] kind, [39] colour and other similar things correspond to a 
single beauty. If in a painting the head should be very large and the breasts 
small, the hand ample and the foot swollen, and the body puffed up, this 
composition would certainly be ugly to see. Therefore, we ought to have a 
certain rule for the size of the members. In this measuring it would be useful 
to isolate [40] each bone of the animal, on this add its muscles, then clothe 
all of it with its flesh. [41] Here someone will object that I have said above 
that the painter has only to do with things which are visible. He has a good 
memory. Before dressing a man we first draw him nude, then we enfold him in 
draperies. So in painting the nude we place first his bones and muscles which we 
then cover with flesh so that it is not difficult to understand where each 
muscle is beneath. Since nature has here carried the measurements to a mean, 
[42] there is not a little utility in recognizing them. Serious painters will 
take this task on themselves from nature. They will put as much study and work 
into remembering what they take from nature as they do in discovering it. A 
thing to remember: to measure an animate body take one of its members by which 
the others can be measured. Vitruvius, the architect, measured the height of man 
by the feet. It seems a more worthy thing to me for the other members to have 
reference to the head, because I have noticed as common in all men that the foot 
is as long as from the chin to the crown of the head. Thus one member is taken 
which corresponds to all the other members in such a way that none of them is 
non-proportional [43] to the others in length and width. 
Then provide that every member can fulfil its function in what it is doing. A 
runner is expected to throw his hands and feet, but I prefer a philosopher while 
he is talking to show much more modesty than skill in fencing. [44] The painter 
Demon represented hoplites in a contest so that you would say one was sweating 
while another, putting down his weapons, clearly seemed to be out of breath. 
Ulysses has been painted so that you could recognize his insanity was only 
feigned and not real. An istoria is praised in Rome in which Meleager, a dead 
man, weighs down those who carry him. In every one of his members he appears 
completely dead--everything hangs, hands, fingers and head; everything falls 
heavily. [45] [p. 73] Anyone who tries to express a dead body--which is 
certainly most difficult--will be a good painter, if he knows how to make each 
member of a body flaccid. [46] Thus, in every painting take care that each 
member performs its function so that none by the slightest articulation remains 
flaccid. The members of the dead should be dead to the very nails; of live 
persons every member should be alive in the smallest part. The body is said to 
live when it has certain voluntary movements. It is said to be dead when the 
members no longer are able to carry on the functions of life, that is, movement 
and feeling. Therefore the painter, wishing to express life in things, will make 
every part in motion--but in motion he will keep loveliness and grace. The most 
graceful movements and the most lively are those which move upwards into the 
air. 
Again we say that in composition the members ought to have certain things in 
common. It would be absurd if the hands of Helen or of Ophigenia were old and 
gnarled, [47] or if Nestor's breast were youthful and his neck smooth; or 
Ganymede's forehead were wrinkled and his thighs those of a labourer; if Milo, a 
very strong man, were to have short and slender flanks; if a figure whose face 
is fresh and full should have muscular arms and fleshless hands. Anyone painting 
Achemenides, found by Aeneas on the island, with the face which Virgil describes 
[48] and the other members not following such consumptiveness, would be a 
painter to laugh at. For this reason, all the members ought to conform to a 
certain appropriateness. I should also like the members to correspond to one 
colour, because it would be little becoming for one who has a rosy, white and 
pleasant face to have the breast and the other members ugly and dirty. 
Therefore, in the composition of members we ought to follow what I have said 
about size, function, kind and colour. Then everything has its dignity. It would 
not be suitable to dress Venus or Minerva in the rough wool cloak of a soldier; 
[49] it would be the same to dress Mars or Jove in the clothes of a woman. The 
antique painters took care in painting Castor [p. 74] and Pollux to make them 
appear brothers, but in the one a pugnacious nature appeared and in the other 
agility. They also took pains to show under the robe of Vulcan his handicap of 
hobbling [50] --so great was their diligence in expressing the function, kind 
and dignity of whatever they painted. 
The fame of the painter and of his art is found in the following--the 
composition of bodies. Certain things said in the composition of members also 
apply here. Bodies ought to harmonize together in the istoria in both size and 
function. [51] It would be absurd for one who paints the Centaurs fighting after 
the banquet to leave a vase of wine still standing in such tumult. [We would 
call] it a weakness if in the same distance one person should appear larger than 
another, or if dogs should be equal to horses, or better, as I frequently see, 
if a man is placed in a building as in a closed casket where there is scarcely 
room to sit down. For these reasons, all bodies should harmonize in size and in 
function to what is happening in the istoria. [52] 
The istoria which merits both praise and admiration will be so agreeably and 
pleasantly attractive that it will capture the eye of whatever learned or 
unlearned person is looking at it and will move his soul. That which first gives 
pleasure in the istoria comes from copiousness and variety of things. In food 
and in music novelty and abundance please, as they are different from the old 
and usual. So the soul is delighted by all copiousness and variety. For this 
reason copiousness and variety please in painting. [53] I say that istoria is 
most copious in which in their places are mixed old, young, maidens, women, 
youths, young boys, fowls, small dogs, birds, horses, sheep, buildings, 
landscapes and all similar things. I will praise any copiousness which belongs 
in that iistoria. Frequently the copiousness of the painter begets much pleasure 
when the beholder stands staring at all the things there. However, I prefer this 
copiousness to be embellished with a certain variety, yet moderate and grave 
with dignity and truth. I blame those painters who, where they wish [p. 75] to 
appear copious, leave nothing vacant. It is not composition but dissolute 
confusion which they disseminate. There the istoria does not appear to aim to do 
something worthy but rather to be in tumult. 
Perhaps solitude will be pleasing for one who greatly desires dignity in his 
iistoria . The majesty of princes is said to be contained in the paucity of 
words with which they make their wishes known. Thus in the istoria a certain 
suitable number of bodies gives not a little dignity. Solitude displeases me in 
istorie; nor can I praise any copiousness which is without dignity. [54] I 
dislike solitude in istorie, nevertheless I do not at all praise that 
copiousness which shrinks from dignity. I strongly approve in all istoria that 
which I see observed by tragic and comic poets. They tell a story with as few 
characters as possible. In my judgment no picture will be filled with so great a 
variety of things that nine or ten men are not able to act with dignity. I think 
pertinent to this the statement of Varro who admitted no more than nine guests 
to a banquet in order to avoid confusion. 

[continued] 

NotebookNotebook, 1993- 
Notebook, 1993- 
Alberti 'On Painting' - Notes 1-25
Alberti, Leon Battista. On Painting. [First appeared 1435-36] Translated with 
Introduction and Notes by John R. Spencer. New Haven: Yale University Press. 
1970 [First printed 1956]. 
B  o  o  k     T  h  r  e  e

Since there are other useful things which will make a painter such that he can 
attain to perfect fame, we should not omit them in this commentary. We will 
treat of them most briefly. I say the function of the painter is this: to 
describe with lines and to tint with colour on whatever panel or wall is given 
him similar observed planes of any body so that at a certain distance and in a 
certain position from the centre they appear in relief, seem to have mass and to 
be lifelike. The aim of painting: to give pleasure, good will and fame to the 
painter more than riches. If painters will follow this, their painting will hold 
the eyes and the soul of the observer. We have stated above how they could do 
this in the passages on composition and the reception of light. However, I would 
be delighted if the painter, in order to remember all these things well, should 
be a good man and learned in liberal arts. Everyone knows how much more the 
goodness of a man is worth than all his industry or art in acquiring the 
benevolence of the citizens. No one doubts that the good will of many is a great 
help to the artist in acquiring both fame and wealth. It often happens that the 
rich, moved more by amiability than by love of the arts, reward first one who is 
modest and good, leaving behind another [p. 89] painter perhaps better in art 
but not so good in his habits. Therefore the painter ought to acquire many good 
habits--principally humanity and affability. He will thus have a firm aid 
against poverty in good will, the greatest aid in learning his art well. 
It would please me if the painter were as learned as possible in all the liberal 
arts, but first of all I desire that he know geometry. I am pleased by the 
maxims of Pamphilos, [1] the ancient and virtuous painter from whom the young 
nobles began to learn to paint. He thought that no painter could paint well who 
did not know much geometry. Our instruction in which all the perfect absolute 
art of painting is explained will be easily understood by a geometrician, but 
one who is ignorant in geometry will not understand these or any other rules of 
painting. Therefore, I assert that it is necessary for the painter to learn 
geometry. 
For their own enjoyment artists should associate with poets and orators who have 
many embellishments in common with painters and who have a broad knowledge of 
many things whose greatest praise consists in the invention. A beautiful 
invention has such force, as will be seen, that even without painting it is 
pleasing in itself alone. Invention is praised when one reads the description of 
Calumny which Lucian recounts was painted by Apelles. [2] I do not think it 
alien to our subject. I will narrate it here in order to point out to painters 
where they ought to be most aware and careful in their inventions. In this 
painting there was a man with very large ears. Near him, on either side, stood 
two women, one called Ignorance, the other Suspicion. Farther, on the other 
side, came Calumny, a woman who appeared most beautiful but seemed too rafty in 
the face. In her right hand she held a lighted torch, with the other hand she 
dragged by the hair a young man who held up his arms to heaven. There was also a 
man, pale, ugly, all filthy and with an iniquitous aspect, who could be compared 
to one who has [p. 90] become thin and feverish with long fatigues on the fields 
of battle; he was the guide of Calumny and was called Hatred. And there were two 
other women, serving women of Calumy who arranged her ornaments and robes. They 
were called Envy and Fraud. Behind these was Penitence, a woman dressed in 
funeral robes, who stood as if completely dejected. Behind her followed a young 
girl, shameful and modest, called Truth. If this story pleased as it was being 
told, think how much pleasure and delight there must have been in seeing it 
painted by the hand of Apelles. 
I should like to see those three sisters to whom Hesiod gave the names of 
Alglaia, Euphrosyne and Thalia, who were painted laughing and taking each other 
by the hand, with their clothes girdled and very clean. [3] This symbolizes 
liberality, since one of these sisters gives, the other receives, the third 
returns the benefit; these degrees ought to be in all perfect liberality. How 
much praise similar inventions give to the artist should be clear. Therefore I 
advise that each painter should make himself familiar with poets, rhetoricians 
and others equally well learned in letters. They will give new inventions or at 
least aid in beautifully composing the istoria through which the painter will 
surely acquire much praise and renown in his painting. Phidias, more famous than 
other painters, confessed that he had learned from Homer, the poet, how to paint 
Jove with much divine majesty. [4] Thus we who are more eager to learn than to 
acquire wealth will learn from our poets more and more things useful to 
painting. 
However, it frequently happens that the studious and desirous of learning become 
tired where they do not know how to learn. Because of this, fatigue increases. 
For this reason we will speak of how one becomes learned in this art. Never 
doubt that the head and principle of this art, and thus every one of its degrees 
in becoming a master, ought to be taken from nature. Perfection in the art will 
be found with diligence, application and study. [p. 91] 
I should like youths who first come to painting to do as those who are taught to 
write. We teach the latter by first separating all the forms of the letters 
which the ancients called elements. Then we teach the syllables, next we teach 
how to put together all the words. Our pupils ought to follow this rule in 
painting. First of all they should learn how to draw the outlines of the planes 
well. Here they would be exercised in the elements of painting. [5] They should 
learn how to join the planes together. Then they should learn each distinct form 
of each member and commit to memory whatever differences there may be in each 
member. The differences of the members are many and unclear. You will see some 
whose nose projects and is humped, others will have flaring simian nostrils, 
others pendant lips, still others the adornment of thin little lips. Thus the 
painter should examine every part of each member, since faces are more or less 
different. Again he should note that our youthful members, as can be seen, are 
round and delicate as if turned; in a more tried age they are harsh and angular. 
All these things the studious painter will know from nature, and he will 
consider most assiduously how each one appears. He will continually be wide 
awake with his eyes and mind in this investigation and work. He will remember 
the lap of a seated person; he will remember how graceful are the hanging legs 
of him who is seated; he will note in standing persons that there is no part of 
the body which does not know its function and its measure. It will please him 
not only to make all the parts true to his model but also to add beauty there; 
because in painting, loveliness is not less pleasing than richness. Demetrius, 
an antique painter, failed to obtain the ultimate praise because he was much 
more careful to make things similar to the natural than to the lovely. [6] 
For this reason it is useful to take from every beautiful body each one of the 
praised parts and always strive by your diligence and study to understand and 
express much loveliness. This is very difficult, because complete beauties are 
never found in a [p. 92] single body, but are rare and dispersed in many bodies. 
Therefore we ought to give our every care to discovering and learning beauty. It 
is proverbial that he who gives himself up to learning and meditating difficult 
things will easily apprehend the simpler. [7] Nothing is ever so difficult that 
study and application cannot conquer it. 
In order not to waste his study and care the painter should avoid the custom of 
some simpletons. Presumptuous of their own intellect and without any example 
from nature to follow with their eyes or minds, they study by themselves to 
acquire fame in painting. They do not learn how to paint well, but become 
accustomed to their own errors. This idea of beauty, [8] which the well trained 
barely discern, flees from the intellect of the inexpert. 
In order to make a painting which the citizens placed in the temple of Lucina 
near Croton, Zeuxis, the most excellent most skilled painter of all, did not 
rely rashly on his own skills as every painter does today. He thought that he 
would not be able to find so much beauty as he was looking for in a single body, 
since it was not given to a single one by nature. He chose, therefore, the five 
most beautiful young girls from the youth of that land in order to draw from 
them whatever beauty is praised in a woman. [9] He was a wise painter. 
Frequently when there is no example from nature which they can follow, painters 
attempt to acquire by their own skill a reputation for beauty. Here it easily 
happens that the beauty which they search is never found even with much work. 
But they do acquire bad practices which, even when they wish, they will never be 
able to leave. [10] He who dares take everything he fashions from nature will 
make his hand so skilled that whatever he does will always appear to be drawn 
from nature. 
The following demonstrates what the painter should seek out in nature. Where the 
face of some well known and worthy man is put in the istoria --even though there 
are other figures of a much more perfect art and more pleasing than this one-- 
[p. 93] that well known face will draw to itself first of all the eyes of one 
who looks at theistoria . So great is the force of anything drawn from nature. 
For this reason always take from nature that which you wish to paint, and always 
choose the most beautiful. 
Take care not to do as many who learn to draw on small tablets. I prefer you to 
practise by drawing things large, as if equal in representation and reality. In 
small drawings every large weakness is easily hidden; in the large the smallest 
weakness is easily seen. 
Galen, the doctor, writes that in his time he saw carved on a ring Phaethon 
drawn by four horses whose reins , breasts and feet were distinctly seen. Our 
painters leave this sort of fame to the sculptors of gems, for they are engaged 
in greater fields of praise. Anyone who knows how to paint a large figure well 
can easily form other small things with a single stroke. One who uses his hand 
and mind on these little coral necklaces and bracelets will easily err in larger 
things. 
Some copy figures of other painters. Here they seek the praise given to Calamis, 
the sculptor who sculpted two cups, as is recorded, in which he copied things 
similarly done by Zenodorus so that no difference could be seen between them. 
[11] Our painters will certainly be in great error if they do not know that 
anyone painting--if he forces himself to represent things as he sees them in our 
veil--will paint things taken from nature sweetly and correctly. If perhaps you 
prefer to copy the works of others, because they have more patience with you 
than living things, it would please me more to [have you] copy a mediocre 
sculpture than an excellent painting. Nothing more can be acquired from 
paintings but the knowledge of how to imitate them; from sculpture you learn to 
imitate it and how to recognize and draw the lights. [12] It is very useful in 
evaluating the lights to squint or to close the sight with the eyelashes so that 
the lights are dimmed and seem painted in intersections. Perhaps it will be more 
useful to practise relief than drawing. [p. 94] If I am not mistaken, sculpture 
is more certain than painting. He who does not understand the relief of the 
thing he paints will rarely paint it well. It is easier to find relief in 
sculpting than in painting. To prove that this argument is to the point: in 
almost every age there are some mediocre sculptors, but inept or even ridiculous 
painters are even more common. [13] 
When you practice, always have before you some elegant and singular example, 
which you imitate and observe. In imitating it I think you will need to have 
diligence joined with quickness. Never take the pencil or brush in hand if you 
have not first constituted with your mind all that you have to do and how you 
have to do it. It will certainly be better to correct the errors with the mind 
than to remove them from the painting. When you acquire the habit of doing 
nothing without first having ordered it, you will become a much faster painter 
than Aesclepiodoros, who, they say, was the most rapid of all ancient painters. 
[14] Your mind moved and warmed by exercise gives itself with greater promptness 
and dispatch to the work; and that hand will proceed most rapidly which is well 
guided by a certain rule of the mind. If anyone should find himself a lazy 
artist, he will be indolent for this reason: he will try slowly and fearfully 
those things which he has not first made well known and clear in his mind. While 
he turns around among these shadows of errors like a blind man with his stick, 
he will probe with his brush this way and that. Therefore, never--if not with a 
well learned, discerning mind--never will he put hand to work. 
However, since the istoria is the greatest work of the painter, in which there 
ought to be copiousness and elegance in all things, we should take care to know 
how to paint not only a man but also horses, dogs and all other animals and 
things worthy of being seen. This is necessary for making our istoria very 
copious, a thing which I have confessed to you is most important. None of the 
ancients agrees with my belief that one cannot be excellent in all things but 
only mediocre. I say, [p. 95] better, I affirm, that we ought to make every 
effort that those things which when acquired give praise and when neglected 
allow censure shall not be lacking because of our negligence. Nicias, the 
Athenian painter, carefully painted women; [15] Heraclides was praised for 
painting ships; Serapion was not able to paint men, everything else he painted 
well; Dionysios was unable to paint anything but men; Alexander, who painted the 
portico of Pompeius, above all painted animals well, dogs the best; Aurelius, 
who was always in love, only painted goddesses, drawing in their faces the faces 
of those he loved; Phidias in showing the majesty of the gods gave more care to 
following the beauty of men; Euphranor delighted in expressing the dignity of 
nobles and in this he surpassed all the others. [16] ^Thus there were unequal 
faculties in each, for nature gives to each intellect its own gifts. We ought, 
therefore, not to be so content with them that through negligence we tire of 
trying to advance with our study as far as we can. The gifts of nature should be 
cultivated with study and exercise and thus from day to day made greater. We 
should pass over nothing in our negligence which can bring us praise. 
When we have an istoria to paint, we will first think out the method and the 
order to make it most beautiful; we will make our drawings and models of all the 
istoria and every one of its parts first of all; [17] we will call our friends 
to give advice about it. We will force ourselves to have every part well thought 
out in our mind from the beginning, so that in the work we will know how each 
thing ought to be done and where located. In order to have the greatest 
certainty we will divide our models with parallels. In the public work we will 
take from our drawings just as we draw maxims and citations from our private 
commentaries. [18] 
In making the istoria we should have speed of execution joined with diligence; 
this ought to obviate fastidiousness or tediousness of execution in us. We will 
avoid the urge to finish things which makes us bungle the work. Sometimes it is 
well [p. 96] to leave the fatigue of working [to seek] recreation for the soul. 
It is not useful to do as some who undertake several works, beginning this one 
today and that one tomorrow and thus leaving them not perfected. When you begin 
a work make it complete in every part. There was one who showed Apelles a 
painting, saying, 'Today I did this.' Appeles replied to him, 'It would not 
surprise me if you have many others similarly done.' [19] I have seen some 
painters and sculptors, and even rhetoricians and poets--if there are 
rhetoricians and poets in this age--devote themselves to a work with a zealous 
eagerness. Then their intellectual ardour cools off and they leave the rough and 
scarcely begun work to take up new things with renewed eagerness. I certainly 
censure such men. Anyone who wishes his things to be acceptable and pleasing to 
posterity should first think out thoroughly what he has to do and then with 
diligence perfect it. In few things is diligence prized more than intellect. But 
it is best to avoid the vitiating effect [20] of those who wish to eliminate 
every weakness and make everything too polished. In their hands the work becomes 
old and squeezed dry before it is finished. The ancient painter Protogenes was 
criticized because he did not know how to raise his hand from his panel. [21] He 
deserves this, because it seems to me a bizarre act of stubbornness, not one of 
an intelligent man. It is well to exert ourselves as much as our intellect is 
capable to see that by our diligence things are done well. To wish that they be 
more than appropriate in every respect is not possible. 
Therefore, give to things a moderated diligence and take the advice of friends. 
In painting open yourself to whoever comes and hear everyone. The work of the 
painter attempts to be pleasing to the multitude; therefore do not disdain the 
judgment and views of the multitude when it is possible to satisfy their 
opinions. They say that Apelles hid behind a painting so that each one could 
more freely criticize it and so that he could hear their honest opinions: Thus 
he heard how each one blamed or praised. [22] Hence I wish our painter openly to 
demand [p. 97] and to hear each one who judges him. This will be most useful to 
him in acquiring pleasantness. There is no one who does not think it an honour 
to pass judgment on the labours of others. It scarcely seems doubtful to me that 
the envious and detractors prejudice the fame of the painter. To the painter all 
his merits were always known, and the things which he has painted well are 
testimonies to his fame. Therefore, hear each one, but first of all have 
everything well thought out and well thrashed out with yourself. When you have 
heard each one, believe that most expert. 
I have had these things to say of painting. If they are useful and helpful to 
painters, I ask only that as a reward for my pains they paint my face in their 
istoria in such a way that it seems pleasant and I may be seen a student of the 
art. [23] If this work is less satisfactory than your expectations, do not 
censure me because I had the courage to undertake such great matters. If my 
intellect has not been able to finish what it was praiseworthy to try, perhaps 
only my will ought to be praised in these great and difficult things. Perhaps 
someone will come after me who will correct my written errors. In this most 
worthy and most excellent art he may be more helpful and useful to the painters 
than I [have been]. If such a one does come, I beg and urge that he take up this 
task with a free and ready spirit, and exercise his intellect to make this noble 
art well governed. 
However, I was pleased to seize the glory of being the first to write of this 
most subtle art. [24] If I have little been able to satisfy the reader, blame 
nature no less than me, for it imposes this law on things, that there is no art 
which has not had its beginnings in things full of errors. Nothing is at the 
same time both new born and perfect. [25] 
I believe that if my successor is more studious and more capable than I he will 
[be able to] make painting absolute and perfect. 
Finished, praise be to God, the 17th day of the month of July, 1436.