A Lifetime Among the Masterworks
Having lived in New York City my entire life, I’ve enjoyed an extraordinary privilege: unparalleled access to some of the world’s greatest art museums. The city has given me a lifelong education that no classroom could ever replicate. Their vast permanent collections have become like old friends—works I return to again and again, each visit revealing something new, depending on my age, my state of mind, or the particular lens through which I happen to be looking.
Yet it is the special exhibitions—retrospectives above all—that have shaped my relationship to art most profoundly. Three museum experiences, in particular, altered the course of my artistic life.
The first came during a childhood trip to Greece. I was eight years old when I encountered the Charioteer of Delphi in the Delphi Archaeological Museum. That was my true initiation into art—the moment I received what felt like the artist’s secret sign.
The second was the Jacques Lipchitz retrospective at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in 1972, when I was fourteen. It revealed what it meant to dedicate one’s life to art.
The third came in 1979, when I saw Leonardo da Vinci’s Benois Madonna, exhibited alongside ten other Renaissance paintings on loan from the Hermitage Museum in St. Petersburg (then Leningrad) at New York’s Knoedler Gallery. That landmark exhibition profoundly influenced my vision as an artist and helped shape the direction my own work would take.
With experiences like these in mind, I can only wonder what Raphael: Sublime Poetry may have awakened in the young artists who were fortunate enough to see it.
The 2026 exhibition Raphael: Sublime Poetry at the Metropolitan Museum of Art marks the first major U.S. retrospective devoted to Raphael. Presented as a comprehensive survey of the artist’s achievement, the exhibition features 33 paintings and 146 drawings, including The Alba Madonna, on loan from the National Gallery of Art, and the Louvre’s Portrait of Baldassarre Castiglione. The exhibition is a testament to international cooperation, made possible through loans and collaboration with institutions across the United States, France, and Italy, including the Vatican Museums. While some of Raphael’s most celebrated works remain in their permanent locations—notably the monumental frescoes of the Vatican Stanze (Raphael Rooms) at the Vatican Museums—the exhibition offers visitors an opportunity to engage with these masterpieces through a dedicated projection gallery. Complementing this presentation are numerous preparatory studies and drawings, which illuminate the frescoes’ scale and context, providing valuable insight into Raphael’s artistic development, creative process, and enduring legacy.
Installed in a sequence of domed galleries that evoke the atmosphere of Renaissance Italy, the exhibition traces Raphael’s career from his earliest years in Urbino to his final projects in Rome. It begins with a teenage silverpoint self-portrait of a teenage Raphael and proceeds through works by his father and first teacher, Giovanni Santi. Particularly striking is the inclusion of the only surviving manuscript of Giovanni’s epic poem celebrating Federico da Montefeltro, Duke of Urbino. Annotated in Giovanni’s own hand and likely inherited by Raphael after his father’s death in 1494, the volume reminds visitors that Raphael emerged from a cultivated humanist environment where poetry and painting were deeply intertwined.
The exhibition then introduces Pietro Perugino, in whose workshop Raphael trained. The influence is immediately apparent. Raphael’s earliest independent works, produced around 1502 when he was still in his teens, are so close to Perugino’s style that the two artists can sometimes seem almost indistinguishable. Yet subtle differences were already emerging. Raphael possessed an uncommon ability to animate figures through gesture and interaction, giving them a sense of psychological and physical presence that would become one of the defining qualities of his mature art.
This quality is particularly evident in the Metropolitan Museum’s Colonna Altarpiece, the only altarpiece by Raphael in an American collection. Even viewed through a crowd of visitors, the central panel commands attention. The Virgin and Child sit enthroned among saints, but unlike many contemporary altarpieces, the figures are not differentiated through hierarchical scale. Raphael instead places them within a unified naturalistic space, creating a convincing sense of shared presence.
The exhibition’s greatest triumph is the temporary reunion of the altarpiece with its predella panels, which have been separated for centuries. These small scenes from Christ’s Passion reveal Raphael’s extraordinary gift for narrative. Figures do not merely occupy space; they activate it. Every gesture prompts a response, every movement generates another. Even at this early stage, Raphael demonstrates an ability to orchestrate complex groups into coherent emotional dramas. The achievement is all the more remarkable because it predates his direct engagement with Leonardo da Vinci and Michelangelo.
The next galleries examine Raphael’s Florentine years, where exposure to those two giants transformed his art. From Leonardo he absorbed a new freedom of invention, visible in lively exploratory drawings such as The Virgin and Child Studied from Lay Figures. Here Raphael thinks through the composition on the page itself, testing relationships between mother and child through fluid, searching lines. The drawing possesses a spontaneity rarely associated with the polished perfection of his finished paintings.
Michelangelo’s influence is most evident in the magnificent cartoon for Saint Catherine of Alexandria. Drawn in black chalk on joined sheets of paper, the life-size figure combines sculptural monumentality with graceful movement. Catherine’s twisting pose, upward gaze, and flowing drapery create a sense of spiritual ascent. Circular motifs—the wheel, curls, and folds of fabric—bind the composition together in a rhythm of remarkable elegance. The drawing demonstrates Raphael’s ability to assimilate Michelangelo’s power without sacrificing his own commitment to harmony and clarity.
A pivotal moment in the exhibition comes with the studies for The Deposition, Raphael’s first truly monumental achievement. Although the painting itself could not travel, the sequence of preparatory drawings and modelli offers an unusually complete view of his working process. Over nearly two years, Raphael refined the composition, experimenting repeatedly before arriving at the final design. These sheets reveal an artist synthesizing lessons learned from Leonardo and Michelangelo while developing an increasingly personal visual language. The result marks the emergence of the mature Raphael.
The exhibition’s central galleries focus on the Madonna and Child, a subject with which Raphael is more closely associated than any other artist. No painter explored its emotional possibilities with greater variety or subtlety. While Leonardo had pioneered a more naturalistic approach to the theme, Raphael expanded it into a profound meditation on maternal love, intimacy, and loss.
The emotional force of these images may be inseparable from Raphael’s own biography. His mother died when he was eight, his father three years later. The exhibition underscores this history by displaying documents recording his mother’s funeral expenses and those for his infant siblings. Whether consciously or not, Raphael returned throughout his career to images of mothers and children, investing them with unusual tenderness and psychological depth.
This sensitivity is evident in the cartoon for the Tempi Madonna, where maternal affection is tempered by an awareness of future sacrifice. Unlike many Renaissance Madonnas, in which the Virgin alone anticipates Christ’s destiny, Raphael grants the child a striking degree of awareness. This emotional complexity recurs throughout his work, transforming conventional devotional imagery into something deeply human.
Among the exhibition’s highlights are five sheets from Raphael’s celebrated “pink sketchbook,” a rare surviving group of silverpoint studies executed on prepared pink paper. Their intimate scale suggests that Raphael carried them while traveling between Florence and Rome. These drawings reveal his astonishing mastery of metalpoint and his ongoing search for new variations on the relationship between mother and child. Even in the smallest studies, one senses an artist exploring form, movement, and emotion with inexhaustible curiosity.
Nearby are several exquisite examples of Raphael’s intimate Madonna and Child paintings, including The Madonna of the Pinks from London’s National Gallery. The youthful Virgin offers carnations to the Christ Child, a symbol of his future sacrifice. Their botanical name, dianthus (“flower of God”), and the tradition that they sprang from Mary’s tears at the Crucifixion make them an apt foreshadowing of the Passion.
The scene unfolds in a refined interior inspired by Leonardo’s Benois Madonna. Architectural space recedes into shadow, creating an ambiguity that has led some viewers to misread parts of the setting as miniature architectural details. Raphael’s characteristic blues and greens visually unite the Virgin with the landscape beyond the arched window, where a ruined hilltop fortress—possibly the Fortezza Albornoz near Urbino—anchors the distant view.
Nearby hangs the cartoon for the Mackintosh Madonna, a life-sized preparatory drawing for a painting now in the National Gallery. The infant Christ embraces Mary while smiling toward the viewer; she lowers her gaze in quiet contemplation of his destiny. Although both the painting and the cartoon have suffered damage, the drawing retains remarkable vitality. Exploratory lines around the Virgin’s shoulder reveal Raphael still refining the composition at an advanced stage. Even in its worn condition, the cartoon helps explain the composition’s lasting appeal, later inspiring artists such as Sassoferrato and Ingres.
At the center of the gallery stands a spectacular double-sided red-chalk drawing that served as the genesis of the Alba Madonna. The display allows viewers to compare conception and completion side by side. Raphael first explored the entire composition on the recto before making a detailed study of the Virgin on the verso. Particularly fascinating is his use of a male workshop assistant to model the Madonna’s pose, recalling Michelangelo’s practice in the Sistine Chapel. The drawing demonstrates both Raphael’s technical versatility and his extraordinary command of line.
Across the room hangs the Alba Madonna, one of Raphael’s greatest works from his Roman period and the most important Raphael painting in America. Recent restoration has recovered its delicate pastel palette and luminous landscape. Through aerial perspective, Raphael creates a convincing sense of depth as hills, buildings, and mountains recede into atmospheric haze. The landscape’s colors echo those of the Virgin’s robes, reinforcing the painting’s circular design.
The composition exemplifies Renaissance ideals of harmony and balance. Raphael stabilizes the circular format with a triangular arrangement of figures and a strong horizontal axis, creating a perfect synthesis of geometry, naturalism, and emotional warmth.
Raphael’s fame also depended on the dissemination of his inventions through printmaking. Inspired by Dürer and recognizing Rome’s lack of a developed print industry, he partnered with the Bolognese engraver Marcantonio Raimondi. Beyond generating income, prints enabled Raphael’s compositions to circulate throughout Europe.
Among the related works is Raphael’s drawing of The Death of Lucretia, depicting the legendary Roman heroine moments before her suicide following her assault by Sextus Tarquinius. Executed with refined contours and controlled hatching, the figure resembles an antique statue brought to life.
The collaboration with Raimondi reached an early climax in The Massacre of the Innocents, one of the sixteenth century’s most celebrated prints. Preparatory studies reveal Raphael’s habit of transforming figures across projects. Motifs first developed for the Judgment of Solomon in the Stanza della Segnatura reappear in altered form within the violent drama of the print, demonstrating his remarkable ability to recycle and reinvent ideas.
The portrait gallery reveals another side of Raphael’s genius. While his Florentine portraits can seem somewhat reserved, his Roman portraits rank among the greatest ever painted.
One revelation was La Muta from Urbino. Although clearly indebted to Leonardo’s Mona Lisa, it possesses an intensity all its own. The sitter’s tense hand, pressing against the lower edge of the composition, creates a subtle yet powerful illusion of presence often lost in reproduction.
The Young Woman with a Unicorn similarly reflects Leonardo’s influence in its pose and setting, yet Raphael avoids the direct engagement of the Mona Lisa. As in most of his portraits, the sitter’s gaze passes slightly beyond the viewer.
Raphael’s portrait of Baldassare Castiglione ranks among the supreme achievements of Renaissance portraiture. Castiglione, a diplomat and author of The Book of the Courtier, embodied the humanist ideal of cultivated grace. Raphael captures both the man and the ideal. The restrained palette, luminous blue-green eyes, and perfect balance of form and color create what might be called a “speaking portrait”—one that seems to reveal both intellect and character.
The attribution of La Fornarina is now shared with Giulio Romano, Raphael’s principal assistant—a revision that seems justified. The handling lacks the effortless assurance found in Raphael’s greatest portraits. Nevertheless, the painting remains undeniably sensual. The nickname “La Fornarina” (“the baker’s daughter”) carried erotic connotations, and tradition has linked the sitter to Raphael’s own romantic life.
Another fascinating work is The Ecstasy of Saint Cecilia. The painting depicts not merely saints but the act of worship itself. Each figure is associated with a visionary experience, while the broken musical instruments at Cecilia’s feet symbolize the abandonment of earthly pleasures in favor of divine devotion. According to Vasari, Giovanni da Udine painted these instruments.
The exhibition’s greatest strengths lie in its drawings. As Raphael’s fame grew, much of the execution of large projects passed to his enormous workshop, which Vasari claimed employed around fifty assistants. This raises enduring questions about authorship in the final decade of his career.
The show features numerous studies for the Vatican frescoes, the Sistine Tapestries, the Chigi Chapel, and the Villa Farnesina. Particularly moving are the drawings for Raphael’s final masterpiece, the Transfiguration. Although the painting itself is absent, seven preparatory studies reveal the evolution of its design.
Among them, the Ashmolean Museum’s cartoon of two apostles is especially memorable. Raphael conveys compassion, helplessness, and empathy through subtle gestures and expressive hands. The drawing exemplifies his ability to convey profound human feeling with extraordinary economy.
The final galleries examine Raphael’s architectural work after Bramante’s death, reminding visitors that his achievements extended beyond painting.
The exhibition ultimately challenges the familiar notion that Raphael was merely a synthesis of Leonardo and Michelangelo. While he absorbed lessons from both, he developed a vision distinctly his own. More than either rival, he shaped the institutional foundations of European art. By the nineteenth century, he had become the supreme academic model, though countless imitators reduced his achievements to formula and convention.
This legacy prompted critics such as John Ruskin to argue that Raphael’s triumphs also sowed the seeds of artistic decline. Yet Raphael himself remains compelling in a way that many of his followers are not. The reason, I think, lies in the extraordinary balance within his work. His compositions are rigorously ordered, yet alive with spontaneity. They combine discipline and freedom, permanence and immediacy.
We are never simply looking at flawless design; we are witnessing the work of a living intelligence. That quality explains why Raphael continues to feel vital five centuries after his death.
When Raphael died in 1520 at thirty-seven, he was honored with a state funeral in the Pantheon, where he remains buried. An inscription on his tomb declares that while he lived, Nature feared being surpassed by him; now that he is dead, she fears dying with him. Few epitaphs better capture the esteem in which he was held—or the enduring power of his art.