Jan van Eyck, The Arnolfini Portrait

Marriage portrait, or memorial? This dense and detailed painting does not lack for symbols—or interpretations.

Jan van Eyck, The Arnolfini Portrait, 1434, oil on wood, 82.2 x 60 cm (The National Gallery, London). Speakers: Dr. Steven Zucker and Dr. Beth Harris

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0:00:06.5 Dr. Steven Zucker: We’re in the National Gallery in London, in a small room, and at its center is one of the most famous paintings in this museum and really in the entire Northern Renaissance tradition. This is Jan van Eyck’s Arnolfini Portrait.

0:00:20.7 Dr. Beth Harris: What we’re looking at is a double portrait, but there seems to be more going on. The man has his right hand raised and the couple is holding hands.

0:00:30.2 Dr. Steven Zucker: Although not palm against palm. This used to be known as The Arnolfini Wedding Portrait. And this is an expression of the fact that we don’t know much about this painting.

0:00:41.3 Dr. Beth Harris: Perhaps the most enduring interpretation came from Erwin Panofsky, who interpreted this painting as a kind of marriage certificate that certified that these figures were, in fact, married and that the artist himself had been a witness. Because one of the most unusual aspects of this painting is the mirror at the center, above the figure’s clasped hands and the artist’s unusual signature.

0:01:10.4 Dr. Steven Zucker: The signature says, “Johannes van Eyck was here.” And just below is a date, 1434. Now, this is a convex mirror, and because it’s convex, we’re treated to a wider view of the room. We see the back of the figures, a window, and outside the window, we see more of the bed, the chandelier, and two additional figures that seem to be descending stairs entering the room. And because of the signature, we assume one of them is the artist, and they are, in this early interpretation, witnessing the marriage.

0:01:41.0 Dr. Beth Harris: And so the signature is a kind of testament to the fact that this marriage actually occurred. Panofsky went on to interpret other objects in the room in light of this idea of marriage. So, for example, we have a single candle in the chandelier, perhaps indicating the sacredness of this event. The figures have removed their shoes, the positions of their hands, carving of Saint Margaret, who’s the patron saint of childbirth.

0:02:10.7 Dr. Steven Zucker: Many people, when they look at the painting, quickly jump to the conclusion that the woman is pregnant. She’s wearing a heavy woolen dress that is lined with fur. You can see the pleating at her waist. But then she raises up the skirt and doubles it. And so we have this volume.

0:02:28.5 Dr. Beth Harris: This was actually a fashionable style of dress in the 15th century in Bruges, where Jan van Eyck lived. And art historians believe that this is Giovanni Arnolfini, a member of an extended family of Italian merchants who were living in Bruges, providing very expensive textiles to the Duke of Burgundy, Philip the Good. So it does seem that this is more than a portrait, but not necessarily, according to the most recent scholarship, the document of a marriage.

0:03:04.0 Dr. Steven Zucker: The fact that he was a merchant helps me understand this painting, because the painting is celebrating material wealth, material beauty. We see this in the expensive and elaborate clothing, in the brass lamp that hangs from the ceiling, in the amber prayer beads that hang next to the mirror, the carpet, which may be an Asian import or even in those oranges, one of which sits on the sill and three others just below on a chest, that were true luxury items that would have expressed both wealth and taste.

0:03:39.3 Dr. Beth Harris: And there’s also the volumes of expensive red fabric that we see on the bench behind them and also on the bed.

0:03:48.8 Dr. Steven Zucker: And the bed was in the reception room because it was the most expensive piece of furniture in the house. So we can know just how prosperous this family is.

0:03:58.2 Dr. Beth Harris: Arnolfini is a wealthy merchant. This painting is clearly about that status.

0:04:04.7 Dr. Steven Zucker: So much so that it has led at least one art historian to hypothesize that this painting may have been viewed in the context of the court of Philip the Good, the very place that the artist Jan van Eyck was the court artist. This is a small community. You have this wealthy Italian merchant up in Bruges selling luxury items to the duke. You have the artist who’s working directly for the duke. And here, presumably, that merchant has commissioned this painting from that artist.

0:04:34.0 Dr. Beth Harris: Philip the Good, the Duke of Burgundy is perhaps the wealthiest man in all of Europe. He controls territories from northern Europe down into France and is commissioning all sorts of luxury items.

0:04:50.1 Dr. Steven Zucker: One of the things that the Duke of Burgundy was famous for commissioning were elaborate illuminated manuscripts. And that’s interesting when we look at this painting, because there is such detail here, there is such precision, there’s such an almost microscopic quality to the handling of paint that it recalls manuscript illumination.

0:05:09.1 Dr. Beth Harris: Van Eyck was a master of creating the illusion of reality. And one of the ways that he’s able to do that is through the use of oil paint, which allows him to create small details. For example, the roundels that surround the mirror where we can see tiny paintings of the Passion of Christ, for example, at the very top, we can see the Crucifixion. Not only do we see these images, but also the shadows cast by the mirror itself and tiny brushstrokes of yellow that indicate the reflection of that light coming from the window on the left. So he’s painting these tiny details, but also this interest in textures. Amber that glows in the light, the straw that makes up the clothes brush that we see to the right of the mirror.

0:06:02.1 Dr. Steven Zucker: And look at those prayer beads. Not only do the forms themselves depict areas of dark and brilliant light, but then they cast both reflection and shadow. So there’s this tremendously sophisticated understanding of the representation of light, even in these very complex scenarios.

0:06:19.9 Dr. Beth Harris: My favorite example of van Eyck’s ability to capture detail is the dog. Panofsky interpreted the presence of the dog as a symbol of fidelity, of faithfulness. And maybe that is what this dog represents. But what I see is this amazingly real animal that seems to be reacting to the figures who are walking into the room. We even see individual hairs of the dog. And then when we continue to look at the dog, we notice that van Eyck even painted the grain of the wood on the floor of this room.

0:06:54.9 Dr. Steven Zucker: And the veracity of the dog is in contrast to the stillness, the seriousness of the couple. The shutters have been opened, below the window is opened, and above there’s a fixed pane of bottle glass. But light is pouring in, and we get a sense of that from the shadow that is cast by its frame against the brick and the wood interior. But for all of the sense of detail, the artist does not seem particularly interested in getting the illusion of the interior space exactly right.

0:07:24.3 Dr. Beth Harris: The floor seems to tilt upward, the space seems compressed.

0:07:28.5 Dr. Steven Zucker: And we see that also in the representation of the figures, whose proportions are not quite perfect. The male figure seems a little bit too long. His hands are attenuated. But I think that this is an attempt by the artist to add a degree of elegance, to add a degree of refinement, to idealize these figures.

0:07:49.9 Dr. Beth Harris: So in the end, we have a painting of a couple who seem to be engaged in something important. Art historians have speculated a wedding, a betrothal, a posthumous portrait of the female figure. We just don’t know. We may never know. But whatever the interpretation, it is so compelling. Van Eyck draws our eye to each detail, each object. The man’s shoes, the woman’s shoes, the dog, the oranges, the mirror, the chandelier, the couple’s hands, the hat, the white cotton around her face, the elaborate train of the woman’s green cloth, the fur that the man wears. We linger over all of these beautiful material aspects of what van Eyck has represented, and the end result is a painting that is one of the most engaging in European art history and displays a kind of mastery of oil paint that is astounding.

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Jan Van Eyck, The Arnolfini Portrait, 1434, tempera and oil on oak panel, 82.2 x 60 cm (National Gallery, London)

Jan Van Eyck, The Arnolfini Portrait, 1434, tempera and oil on oak panel, 82.2 x 60 cm (National Gallery, London), photo: Dr. Steven Zucker, CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

But is she pregnant?

Jan van Eyck’s equally enigmatic and iconic Arnolfini Portrait often prompts art history newcomers and experts alike to ask: is the female figure pregnant? Questions about the presence of pregnancy in the portrait are so common that the London National Gallery’s website addresses the issue on the second line of the painting’s official explanatory text.

Jan Van Eyck, The Arnolfini Portrait (detail), 1434, tempera and oil on oak panel, 82.2 x 60 cm (National Gallery, London)

Jan Van Eyck, Dress (detail), The Arnolfini Portrait, 1434, tempera and oil on oak panel, 82.2 x 60 cm (National Gallery, London), photo: Dr. Steven Zucker CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

Is the woman in the Arnolfini Portrait pregnant? The short answer is no. The illusion is caused because the figure collects her extensive skirts and presses the excess fabric to her abdomen where it springs outwards and creates a domelike silhouette. Her hand position is regularly read by modern viewers as a universal acknowledgment of pregnancy, but in the Renaissance this gesture would have been understood instead as a sign of adherence to female decorum. Young Renaissance women were encouraged to keep their hands demurely clasped around their girdles when in public, as this was seen as polite and unobtrusive.

The issue of pregnancy in the Arnolfini Portrait is a complex one: the figure is not literally pregnant, because painting or sculpting pregnancy violated the period’s artistic customs—yet pregnancy is nevertheless present in the picture. Both pregnancy symbolism and expectation are at play within the painting.

Jan Van Eyck, Oranges (detail left) and carved bedpost depicting Saint Margaret atop a dragon (detail right), The Arnolfini Portrait, 1434, tempera and oil on oak panel, 82.2 x 60 cm (National Gallery, London)

Jan Van Eyck, Oranges (detail left) and carved bedpost depicting Saint Margaret atop a dragon (circled in red, detail right), The Arnolfini Portrait, 1434, tempera and oil on oak panel, 82.2 x 60 cm (National Gallery, London), photos: Dr. Steven Zucker CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

Objects alluding to future pregnancy pepper the composition, from the ripened fruit arranged on the windowsill, to the wooden statuette of Saint Margaret, the patron saint of childbirth, who is shown overcoming the dragon of heresy on the bed frame. Though it’s impossible to sever the question concerning pregnancy from this painting, we can answer it by examining both Renaissance pregnancy and dress practices.

Renaissance pregnancy

The highly-gendered Renaissance world produced widely disparate male and female lived experiences. While a man generally married in his third or fourth decade, allowing him ample time to grow his business or estate, women became brides ideally between the ages of thirteen and seventeen. Women, therefore, were expected to and did spend the majority of their married lives with child.

Jan Van Eyck, Hands (detail), The Arnolfini Portrait, 1434, tempera and oil on oak panel, 82.2 x 60 cm (National Gallery, London)

Jan Van Eyck, Hands (detail), The Arnolfini Portrait, 1434, tempera and oil on oak panel, 82.2 x 60 cm (National Gallery, London), photo: Dr. Steven Zucker CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

Arnolfini’s wife is not pregnant in the picture, but period norms assumed she soon would be. Art historian Diane Wolfthal agrees that although the woman is not pictured pregnant, “the panel alludes to the proper goal of sexual relations through the wife’s protruding belly . . . her gesture . . . brings attention to her womb,”[1] and argues that the few period viewers who came into contact with the Arnolfini Portrait would have understood and recognized this signaling.

Raphael, La Donna Gravida (Portrait of a Woman), c. 1505–06, oil on panel, 66 x 52 cm (Palazzo Pitti, Florence)

Raphael, La Donna Gravida (Portrait of a Woman), c. 1505–06, oil on panel, 66 x 52 cm (Palazzo Pitti, Florence)

Although married Renaissance women spent the majority of their premenopausal lives with child, pregnancy itself was rarely represented. Artists working across a myriad of media shied away from depicting pregnancy, most likely because the condition was thought to be indecorous.

During the Renaissance, when a woman entered into her third trimester, she generally remained at home in a ritual called confinement. Further, depicting pregnancy admitted a direct link to human sexuality. Though procreative intercourse between heterosexual married couples was the only church-sanctioned form of sexuality in the Renaissance, to portray a married woman pregnant was generally seen as improper.

Detail, Limburg Brothers, September from Les Très Riches Heures du duc de Berry, f. 9, c. 1412–16 (Musée Condé)

Detail, Limburg Brothers, September from Les Très Riches Heures du duc de Berry, f. 9, c. 1412–16 (Musée Condé)

Rare exceptions exist, such as Raphael’s inscrutable Donna Gravida, or Portrait of an Unknown Lady attributed to Marcus Gheeraerts II, or the peasant woman toiling away in the fields in the September page of the Limbourg brothers’ Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry.

But even paintings depicting the Visitation—a moment in the Gospel of Luke when Mary and Elizabeth meet and both are pregnant (Mary with Christ, and Elizabeth with St. John the Baptist)—the two biblical heroines are rarely depicted as obviously gestational, though again, there are a few exceptions (for example, Rogier van der Weyden’s Visitation).

Francseco Xanto (painter), Cup, c. 1530, tin glazed earthenware, 16.5 cm diameter (Victoria & Albert Museum)

Francseco Xanto (painter), Cup (for broth) from a birth tray c. 1530, tin glazed earthenware, 16.5 cm diameter (Victoria & Albert Museum)

Another medium that offers a glimpse into Renaissance pregnancy and childbirth are birth trays, which were popular gifts for new mothers that would include jars and bowls containing soup and sweets.

Renaissance dress and gender norms

While the Arnolfini Portrait foregrounds many domestic objects, dress takes center stage. Both outfits in the portrait are ludicrously expensive and detailed, but the woman’s clothing outshines her husband’s. This excessive disparity in color and yardage is perfectly in line with Renaissance fashion and gender difference. Men’s outfits tended to be tailored from darker fabrics to signal the wearer’s sobriety and lack of vanity. In contrast, Renaissance women’s bodies in both images and reality were potent sites of material display. An exemplary upper-class wife was required to demonstrate her husband’s wealth (through his ability to keep her adorned in the latest fashion trends) as well as the couple’s potential fertility.

Unknown artist, A Bridal Couple, c. 1470, oil on panel, 77.5 x 51 x 8.1 cm (The Cleveland Museum of Art)

Unknown artist, A Bridal Couple, c. 1470, oil on panel, 77.5 x 51 x 8.1 cm (The Cleveland Museum of Art)

The woman in the Arnolfini Portrait holds her dress in a way that styles her body as seemingly pregnant. This pose is not uncommon in depictions of Renaissance women, especially in the Northern Renaissance context (see, for example, A Bridal Couple in The Cleveland Museum of Art). The odd pose was adopted for practical purposes: full Renaissance skirting forced women to pick up their gowns when they walked. The gesture likewise illuminates the wearer’s moneyed status.

According to costume historian Ann Hollander, the notorious, seemingly pregnant silhouette touted by the woman in The Arnolfini Portrait (and countless other images of women created throughout the early modern period) connoted elegance and luxury on the part of the wearer and her male keeper (for the man it was a swelled midsection). The more dramatic a woman’s curves, the more real estate to show off exquisitely tailored fabrics. The lifting of skirts likewise provided a chance to further showcase wealth by revealing contrasting undergarments (such as the blue undergown worn by the woman in the Arnolfini Portrait).

While the woman’s gown does not display an actual pregnancy, it is possible that the controversial dress is coded with pregnancy and may be read as symbolic of women’s roles in the Renaissance, including motherhood. The woman’s ample costume does not conceal or describe a pregnancy; however, it is roomy enough to easily host a future one without the need for tailoring. Its green hue could also connote fecundity, as the color was widely associated with springtime and therefore fertility and fruitfulness in the period. Additionally, the gown is lined with ermine. Art historian Jacqueline Musacchio has argued that martins and weasels in portraits (either alive or skinned) may be symbolic of pregnancy or the hope for future pregnancy. It is no accident, therefore, that mid-fifteenth century Flemish haute couture (high fashion) suggests pregnancy.

Jan Van Eyck, Cloth gathered on the floor (detail), The Arnolfini Portrait, 1434, tempera and oil on oak panel, 82.2 x 60 cm (National Gallery, London)

Jan Van Eyck, Cloth gathered on the floor (detail), The Arnolfini Portrait, 1434, tempera and oil on oak panel, 82.2 x 60 cm (National Gallery, London), photo: Dr. Steven Zucker CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

A new question

Perhaps the question we should be asking when considering the Arnolfini Portrait is not “is the female figure pregnant?” Instead, we can consider why the female figure appears to be pregnant. The persistent illusion asks us to consider Renaissance gender roles, as well as our own beliefs concerning depictions of women in pre-modern art. The woman in the green dress is not meant to be read as actually pregnant, yet—more significantly—she lived and died in a culture that expected near-constant pregnancy from women.

Using infrared reflectography, Rachel Billinge explains aspects of the artist’s meticulous underdrawing for the work and some of the fascinating secrets it reveals.

This painting at The National Gallery

The many questions surrounding Jan Van Eyck’s Arnolfini Portrait (from ARTstor)

Smarthistory images for teaching and learning:

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More Smarthistory images…

Cite this page as: Dr. Beth Harris and Dr. Steven Zucker, "Jan van Eyck, The Arnolfini Portrait," in Smarthistory, January 16, 2025, accessed January 21, 2025, https://smarthistory.org/jan-van-eyck-the-arnolfini-portrait/.