Baroque art emerged around 1600 and flourished across Europe until the mid-18th century. It arose during a time of intense religious, political, and scientific change, shaped largely by the continuing impact of the Reformation and the Catholic Counter-Reformation. As Protestant and Catholic regions diverged—particularly in the Netherlands, which split into Catholic Flanders (modern Belgium) and Protestant Holland—art took on distinct regional functions and meanings.
In Catholic countries like Italy, Spain, and Flanders, the Church became a dominant patron, commissioning dramatic, emotionally charged art and grandiose architecture to inspire awe and reaffirm faith. Simultaneously, the rise of absolute monarchies fostered lavish court patronage, using art to project royal power and divine right.
In Protestant regions, such as Holland and parts of Germany and England, religious imagery was often discouraged. Instead, art catered to a growing urban middle class, leading to the popularity of genre scenes, landscapes, still lifes, and portraits—secular works that reflected wealth, morality, and daily life.
The Baroque period also witnessed the evolution of the art market. Artists increasingly specialized in specific genres and mediums, moving away from the "universal man" ideal of the Renaissance. Patronage diversified—now including churches, courts, civic governments, and private collectors. By the late 17th century, the traditional artist-patron relationship gave way to a more modern art economy with the rise of art dealers, auctions, and critics. The first registered art dealer appeared in the Netherlands in 1615, marking the beginning of a more commercialized art world. As Rome's influence declined, Paris emerged as Europe's new artistic center, a status it maintained into the 20th century.
The word baroque—originally meaning "irregular pearl"—came to describe the art of this era, often marked by:
Theatricality and drama
Dynamic movement
Emotional intensity
Rich color and light effects
Grandeur and sensuality
While Baroque art introduced a new level of emotional and visual drama, it also continued the classical ideals of the Renaissance, often blending reason with passion.
The era's fascination with space, motion, and light was paralleled by the scientific discoveries of Galileo, Newton, and Descartes, whose ideas redefined how people understood the universe. Artists mirrored these ideas, treating light as material, space as vast, and motion as expressive forces—creating powerful, immersive works that spoke to both intellect and emotion.
The first work of Bernini's that we are going to look at is his David, sculpted for Cardinal Borghese in only 7 months. It is strikingly different than its Renaissance predecessors. By comparing it to Michelangelo's David, we can immediately ascertain the differences between the Renaissance and the Baroque periods.
The essence of Baroque art is displayed in Bernini's David. Bernini chose the most dramatic moment to convey the event, which in turn created a dynamic, theatrical energized work which occupies our space.
Moment of the narrative: Bernini’s David is caught in mid-action, at the dramatic split second as he hurls the stone from his sling. Bernini’s choice of this high-intensity moment transforms the sculpture into a theatrical and emotionally charged scene. The figure’s twisting torso, furrowed brow, and tightly clenched mouth convey the physical and psychological strain of battle. Here, energy is not stored—it is exploding. Bernini’s David is pure motion, suspended in time.
Moment of the narrative: Michelangelo captures the quiet before the storm—the contemplative moment before David faces Goliath. His David stands in calm anticipation, body tense but still, eyes focused, muscles coiled with potential energy. The figure radiates idealized beauty, dignity, and inner resolve—a reflection of the Renaissance values of humanism and classical restraint. It is a timeless embodiment of heroic potential and moral virtue.
Unlike Michelangelo’s self-contained hero, Bernini’s David breaks free of his pedestal. He engages with our space, not just his own. The implied presence of Goliath, located somewhere behind or beside the viewer, draws us directly into the narrative. This interaction with the viewer’s space is a hallmark of the Baroque style, reflecting its emphasis on movement, drama, and sensory engagement.
Moreover, Bernini's approach is not just more dynamic but also more theatrical. His David embodies the Baroque spirit, which aimed to stir the emotions and involve the spectator physically and psychologically. For the first time since the expressive figures of Hellenistic Greece, a sculpture projects so powerfully into the viewer's world, dissolving the boundary between art and life.
In sum, Michelangelo’s David stands as a Renaissance symbol of heroic idealism and calm rationality, while Bernini’s David bursts forth as a Baroque embodiment of emotional intensity, theatricality, and movement—a confrontation not just with Goliath, but with us.
One of Bernini’s most celebrated theatrical achievements is the Ecstasy of Saint Teresa in the Cornaro Chapel of Santa Maria della Vittoria in Rome.
Here, Bernini not only created a dramatic sculptural centerpiece—depicting the mystical vision of St. Teresa of Ávila—but also orchestrated an immersive environment that blurs the boundaries between sculpture, architecture, and theater. He designed the entire chapel as a stage, complete with an audience: life-sized marble portraits of members of the Cornaro family, including six cardinals from previous generations, are positioned in theater boxes carved into the walls, observing the divine drama unfold.
At the center, bathed in celestial light, is the vision itself. St. Teresa, one of the great mystic saints of the Counter-Reformation, described in her writings how an angel pierced her heart with a golden arrow, filling her with divine ecstasy. Bernini captures the most intense moment of this vision: the angel gently parts her robe, preparing to strike, while Teresa leans back in a swoon, her face a blend of physical pleasure and spiritual transcendence.
The composition is charged with movement. The diagonal thrust of the figures heightens the drama, while gilded bronze rays behind them radiate divine light. Most strikingly, a hidden window above the altar casts real sunlight down upon the sculpture—creating an almost supernatural glow and transforming the marble into a luminous, living vision.
With this work, Bernini transcends the traditional boundaries of sculpture. He creates a total work of art—a Gesamtkunstwerk—that combines painting, sculpture, architecture, light, and theatrical illusion to engage the viewer in a mystical experience. It is not merely an altarpiece, but a fully realized spiritual revelation—meant not to be simply admired, but felt.
Caravaggio (1571–1610) brought a radical new vision to religious painting, emphasizing human drama, immediacy, and raw emotion over idealized beauty. Rejecting the classical ideals of the Renaissance, he grounded sacred scenes in gritty realism and everyday experience.
Caravaggio’s turbulent personal life mirrored the intensity of his art. Frequently arrested for assault and ultimately exiled for killing a man in a brawl, he lived on the run until his early death at age 37. His association with the lower rungs of society shaped his unvarnished depictions of biblical events, infusing them with stark realism.
In The Conversion of St. Paul, Caravaggio departs from traditional grandeur. The scene is reduced to a moment of intimate, earthly drama: Saul, blinded by divine light, has fallen from his horse and lies on the ground with arms outstretched. The horse dominates the composition, its hindquarters nearly obscuring the saint—a deliberate break from conventional reverence. There is no celestial glow or golden halo—only the blinding shaft of divine light and the shock of a man brought low.
Caravaggio intensifies the scene with tenebrism—the dramatic use of light and shadow—which became his signature style. Forms emerge from darkness in sharp relief, enhancing the theatricality and psychological tension. Strong diagonals add to the dynamism, directing the viewer's gaze toward Paul’s vulnerable, outstretched body.
Much like Bernini in sculpture, Caravaggio blurs the line between viewer and subject. Paul’s body spills into our space, implicating us in the scene. The effect is deeply immersive and emotionally charged.
In abandoning the pursuit of classical beauty, Caravaggio forged a new path focused on truth, however raw. His dramatic realism profoundly influenced Baroque painting across Europe, giving rise to a school of followers—both Italian and Northern—who embraced his bold naturalism.
As noted in the introduction, the Netherlands played a central role in the development of the modern art market. After the Protestant Reformation, the region split:
Flanders (modern-day Belgium) remained Catholic and continued to produce large-scale religious works, often commissioned by the Church and aristocracy.
Holland (modern-day Netherlands) became Protestant, rejecting religious imagery in churches and embracing a more secular artistic culture.
This religious and economic divide led to significant shifts in artistic production, especially in Protestant Holland:
The Catholic Church was no longer a major patron of the arts.
A wealthy middle class emerged, creating a commercial art market driven by personal taste.
Artists began specializing in secular genres, such as:
Portraiture (individuals, families, civic groups)
Still life (symbolic arrangements of objects)
Genre scenes (everyday life and domestic interiors)
Landscapes (nature and cityscapes)
This marked a move away from religious themes toward more intimate and marketable subject matter.
In contrast to Italy, where the papacy and nobility remained dominant patrons, the Dutch Republic's art scene was shaped by private collectors and a competitive open market.
The Flemish artist Peter Paul Rubens (1577–1640) was one of the most prolific and entrepreneurial painters of the seventeenth century. His vast output spanned a wide range of subjects—from religious and mythological scenes to portraits and political allegories. Rubens enjoyed patronage from an equally diverse array of clients, including the Catholic Church, the courts of France, Spain, and Flanders, private collectors, and even himself.
Rubens operated a large workshop, where assistants and apprentices contributed to his paintings under his direction—an approach that mirrors aspects of today’s studio practices. For example, in the painting Prometheus Bound, Rubens painted the figure of Prometheus, while the eagle was completed by an apprentice known for his expertise in animal painting.
In addition to his artistic accomplishments, Rubens was a savvy businessman and even served as a diplomat for Flanders.
Like his Italian Baroque counterparts, Rubens embraced the drama and theatricality of the period, emphasizing the decisive moment, dynamic diagonal compositions, and vivid contrasts of light and shadow to heighten emotional intensity in his work.
In The Elevation of the Cross, Rubens captures a moment of intense action and drama. Christ’s body strains upward as he is lifted, echoed by the muscular effort of the men raising the cross. One figure in the foreground even projects into the viewer’s space, enhancing the immediacy and impact of the scene.
The energy and movement are heightened by Rubens' dynamic use of diagonal lines and dramatic lighting. Influenced by Caravaggio, Rubens skillfully employs tenebrism and chiaroscuro to create strong contrasts and emotional depth.
Despite the brutality of the scene, Christ gazes upward toward heaven, suggesting hope and salvation. This vivid, emotional depiction aligns with Counter-Reformation goals, urging the viewer to connect personally with Christ’s suffering and the promise of redemption.
The painting was commissioned by Cornelius van der Geest, a wealthy merchant and art collector.
In the Protestant Netherlands (Holland), another Baroque master emerged: Rembrandt van Rijn (1606–1669). A member of the Reformed Church, Rembrandt was closely associated with Calvinist and Mennonite circles, both of which shaped his deeply personal and introspective approach to religious subjects.
In The Return of the Prodigal Son, Rembrandt demonstrates the Baroque fascination with light, yet he applies it in a profoundly different way than many of his contemporaries.
Instead of heightening action or drama, Rembrandt uses light as a tool of spiritual revelation.
The warm, glowing illumination gently falls on the embracing father and kneeling son, creating a central focus and reinforcing the theme of mercy and unconditional forgiveness.
Three onlookers recede into shadow, their presence subdued, underscoring the intimacy of the reunion.
Unlike Caravaggio, whose light often amplifies violence and physical drama, Rembrandt’s chiaroscuro serves to evoke silence, reflection, and grace. The composition is still theatrical, but the drama lies in its emotional and spiritual depth rather than physical action.
This scene was especially meaningful in the context of Protestant theology. The story of the Prodigal Son was a favored subject in Protestant countries because it embodies the idea of direct divine forgiveness—a core Protestant belief that grace and salvation come through personal faith, without mediation by priests or the institution of confession. In the parable, the wayward son returns in shame and repentance, and the father welcomes him back with open arms, restoring him fully without penance or condition—a clear symbol of God’s mercy freely given to the repentant believer.
Rembrandt’s portrayal of this biblical moment transcends mere illustration. It becomes a profound meditation on compassion, humility, and spiritual reconciliation, rendered with the quiet intensity that defines his greatest works.