I don’t have a print of the Mona Lisa hanging in my office. And, come to think of it, I don’t know anyone who does. Millions of people are familiar with the painting. Far fewer truly love it.
Art historians admire the portrait’s sfumato (its ombrĂ©-ness) and its aerial perspective, techniques Leonardo da Vinci either invented or took to the next level. Still, this kind of technical mastery rarely creates a heartfelt connection between viewer and sitter.
But here’s something that might. What if I told you that Leonardo’s portrait of Lisa del Giocondo contains feminist-like imagery that likely shocked everyone who knew this young, married woman?
Renaissance trophy wives
During the Italian Renaissance, it was traditional for married women to wear expensive clothing and jewelry in their portraits to signal their husbands’ social standing.
The goal was to present a carefully curated public image, similar to the way certain couples brand themselves on social media today.
For instance, in this rare double portrait by Italian artist Filippo Lippi, real fur prominently lines the woman’s velvet overdress, known as a giornea. On her sleeve, tiny seed pearls spell out the word LEALTA (FAITHFUL), literally tagging her as the loyal wife of the man leaning in.
The woman’s brooch further signals the couple’s wealth, given the rarity of large organic pearls at the time.
A stunning headdress made of tiny feathers hides her hair—a necessary convention because loose tresses would indicate she is unmarried and open to romantic overtures.
The sitter—who may be Angiola di Bernardo Sapiti—is dressed to the nines yet appears confined to her own home as if under house arrest. What’s behind this sense of gilded isolation? Maybe a clue lies in a centuries-old observation written by a French traveler:
Women are more enclosed in Florence than in any other city in Italy! They see the world only from the small openings in their windows.
Indeed, tax records from 15th-century Florence reveal a shocking number of women fell from windows. I can’t help but wonder how many of these women were just trying to catch a glimpse of the outside world.
A woman more precious than jewels
At first glance, the most striking thing about this Renaissance portrait by Italian artist Domenico Ghirlandaio is what you don’t see. In the background, the traditional window view is missing.
Ghirlandaio portrays the woman in coffin-like confinement to convey the tragedy of her death during childbirth. Her signature brooch has been laid to rest on a shelf. The coral beads that many new mothers carried as a protective talisman now hang idle from a hook.
Her amber-colored overdress is embroidered with “L” motifs and other symbols that identify her as Giovanna Tornabuoni, wife of banker Lorenzo Tornabuoni. Beneath it, her red gamurra features one of the most beautiful sleeves in art history.
Above her gilded prayer book, the Latin inscription translates as:
Art, would that you could represent character and mind. There would be no more beautiful painting on earth.
For more than a decade, Lorenzo kept this painting in his private suite of rooms at the Tornabuoni Palace. Four centuries later, Giovanna’s portrait was acquired by financier J. Pierpont Morgan, who perhaps understood Lorenzo’s grief, having lost his own wife just four months after their honeymoon.
The world’s most famous stranger
As it happened, Leonardo da Vinci was acquainted with Giovanna’s family. He probably saw her portrait and read the Latin inscription. You might say he snatched the ball and ran.
First, he rewrote the Renaissance playbook. In his next portrait of a woman, there would be no bejeweled dress, no flashy brooch, no pinned-up hair, no meaning-laden attributes.
Then, he turned his back on the prevailing standard of physical beauty found in 14th-century literature. Looking only at Renaissance portraits, you could easily assume every Italian women shared the same golden hair and blue eyes of Laura, the married woman who inspired hundreds of Petrarch’s love poems.
In Leonardo’s unprecedented portrait of Lisa del Giocondo (nĂ©e Gherardini), she is wearing a dark dress and a gossamer veil. But she’s not in mourning. Dark colors were en vogue at the turn of the century, when stylish women emulated the Spanish court of Charles V, then Western Europe’s most powerful ruler.
Sunlight kisses the neckline of her dress, whose braided spirals resemble the doodles Leonardo often sketched in his notebooks. Beneath this decorative trim, the fabric cascades over her body like a waterfall.
Breaking with long-standing tradition, Lisa is sitting in an open-air room called a loggia. Her brunette hair is loose and flowing—a radical departure for a married mother of five.
Importantly, she is making eye contact with the viewer—even male viewers—with a poise and presence not seen in previous female portraits.
Why did Leonardo keep this portrait?
More than five hundred years later, it remains a mystery why Leonardo held onto this painting until his death in 1519. What’s more, historical bank records show he was never paid for the work.
Did Lisa’s friends say the portrait made her look (shall we say) available? Did Lisa’s husband, a prosperous silk merchant, refuse to pay the commission? Was there a dispute over money? Or was it a matter of taste?
Regardless, the mystery is overshadowed by the revolutionary result. During the Renaissance, artists portrayed women as ideals, symbols, and allegories—even in their own portraits. In contrast, Lisa del Giocondo leaned into something far more intimate: a portrait that sought to capture her true self.
You gotta love that.
Postscript: If you happen to be in London…
Don’t miss Van Eyck: The Portraits, a special exhibition at The National Gallery in London from November 21, 2026 thru April 11, 2027. For the first time in history, a museum will show all nine portraits by the Northern Renaissance master together. Click the link for details.