I'm Kenney Mencher. I'm an artist who left a tenured professorship in 2016 to pursue making art full time. This blog is about art, art history, with a emphasis on human rights. I make homoerotic art featuring bears, otters & other gay wildlife.
Just added this piece to my Fresh Finds archive release. I painted it in 2014 after walking across a bridge in L.A.—recognized it later in La La Land, paused the movie, and sketched it out. Built it up with thick, visible brushstrokes in a Bay Area Figurative style.
12x16 inches, oil on canvas. Never shown before—now available.
DM me or check the link in bio for details.
Benjamin West, Death of General Wolfe, 1770
oil on canvas, 5'x7' National Gallery of Canada, Ottawa, British History Painting
Take Benjamin West as an example. He was born in America but
worked in England and had patrons there. While it might be tempting to just
call him an English painter, it’s more accurate to describe him as an American
artist working under English patronage. His work often focused on English
subjects, and one of the genres he worked in was called history painting.
That term doesn’t mean it's about ancient history necessarily—it’s more like a
staged scene of current or recent events. You can think of it kind of like a
news photo that’s been retouched or set up for dramatic effect.
Looking at one of West’s well-known paintings, it helps to
focus on how it’s built up visually. The arrangement of figures is sort of flat
across the front, like a frieze—a design style that goes back to things
like the Ara Pacis Augustae in Rome or the Panathenaic procession
in ancient Greece. The figures are pushed toward the front of the painting,
almost like a shallow relief sculpture. They’re posed with these exaggerated
gestures meant to show emotion, but also a bit theatrical, almost like they’re
posing or voguing for the viewer.
Behind them, there’s another set of figures in the background
that are less clear. These are shown with sfumato or atmospheric
perspective, where the haze makes things look more distant. As you look further
back, the smoke and clouds blur the details even more, adding depth and mood to
the scene.
The lighting in the painting helps shape the bodies. There’s
a clear light source coming from the left, casting shadows, and creating a
sense of volume through techniques known as chiaroscuro and tenebrism.
These are terms for how light and shadow are used to model the figures, making
them look three-dimensional. The brightest part of the light falls on a wounded
figure in the middle, drawing your eye there. What makes that even more
noticeable is the diagonal line running through the painting, created by a flag
and the shapes of the clouds. That diagonal helps guide your eye and adds
energy to the scene.
A lot of what West is doing here comes from what he learned
from earlier artists like Caravaggio and Velázquez. He’s borrowing techniques
like dramatic lighting and strong composition to heighten the storytelling.
These were tools used in Baroque painting, and West is applying them to a
modern historical subject, blending old methods with recent events.
One way to look at Benjamin West’s painting The Death of
General Wolfe is by focusing on the iconography, which basically
means the use of symbols and visual elements that carry meaning. This painting
doesn’t just tell a story through how it looks—it also connects to historical
context and some ideas that were going around in the 1700s.
During the 18th century, there were ongoing struggles between
European powers over land in the Americas. England and France were especially
active in trying to claim territory because they saw the Americas as a source
of valuable natural resources. Controlling these resources was seen as a way to
strengthen their economies, especially during the early phases of industrialization.
The British and French both formed alliances with Native American groups during
these conflicts. In Canada, for example, a series of battles known as the French
and Indian Wars took place, where both sides relied on Native American
support.
At the same time, Europeans were still trying to figure out
how to categorize and understand Native American cultures. After Columbus
arrived in the Americas, questions were raised in Europe about whether
Indigenous people had souls or could be “saved.” Over time, this led to the
idea that Native Americans were what European thinkers like Jean-Jacques
Rousseau might call noble savages—people who lived outside of European
civilization but were still seen as naturally moral or pure in some way. This
idea was used to justify attempts to convert them to Christianity. It wasn’t
just a personal belief system; it shaped how artists, writers, and governments
talked about Indigenous people.
These ideas show up in West’s painting. He was an
American-born painter working in England, and he often supported British
perspectives in his work. In this painting, he shows General James Wolfe, a
British officer, dying during the 1759 Battle of Quebec. Wolfe is placed in the
center of the scene, surrounded by a group of men. His pose and the way he’s
lit make him look a lot like traditional images of Christ, especially from
scenes known as depositions, where Christ is taken down from the cross.
The way Wolfe's body is shown—laid out and gently supported by those around
him—closely matches the structure of those religious paintings.
West used this setup to make Wolfe appear as a kind of
martyr, but instead of dying for religion, Wolfe is shown dying for his
country. The British flag in the scene is positioned in a way that mirrors how
a cross might appear in a Christian painting, reinforcing the connection. This
kind of imagery wasn’t new—artists had used religious symbolism for
centuries—but here, it’s being used to support national identity and politics
rather than religion.
The painting reflects how visual art in the late 1700s began
to play a role in shaping political ideas, not just spiritual ones. The symbols
used—like Wolfe’s pose, the lighting, and the arrangement of figures—are pulled
from earlier Christian imagery and adapted to tell a national story.
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At the beginning of what became known as the Reformation,
books and the way information was shared became especially important. A major
innovation during this time was the invention of the movable type printing
press. To us, that might not seem like a big deal, but it completely changed
how information was spread. A helpful comparison is the way copy machines and
the internet allowed people to create and share content without needing
permission from a central authority. Just like social media helped spread ideas
during events like the revolution in Egypt, printing allowed people in the 15th
and 16th centuries to share new ideas more freely.
Johannes Gutenberg is usually credited with inventing the
movable type printing press in the 1450s, though others were working on similar
ideas around the same time. Movable type was actually invented earlier in
China, but it wasn’t widely adopted there—possibly due to the complexity of the
Chinese writing system, which includes thousands of characters.
Gutenberg’s key insight was that instead of carving a full
page of text, you could make small, reusable letter blocks. These could be
arranged to form words and lines, then reset and
After printing maybe 50 or 100 copies of a page, the printer could reuse all the letters again for a new page. This made printing way faster and much cheaper—cutting costs by about 95%. It was such a change that even the idea of children’s alphabet blocks comes from the way these letters were stored and used during printing.
He also made a new translation of the Bible by going back to
the original Hebrew, Greek, and Latin sources. That made his version of the
Bible more accurate and readable for scholars of the time. Once people started
reading it for themselves, they began to question the church’s teachings and
how information had been controlled.
Most students are taught that the church didn’t allow regular
people to read the Bible. While that’s partly true, it wasn’t just about
control. Books, even printed ones, were expensive, and not everyone was
literate. Still, Erasmus's ideas encouraged people to read for themselves and
ask questions.
His work had a big impact on Martin Luther. Luther was born
to a peasant family, though his father was fairly wealthy and wanted Martin to
move up in the world. He sent Luther to study law. One day, while traveling
home across a field, Luther got caught in a thunderstorm. A lightning strike
hit nearby, and he panicked. He dove into the mud and made a vow to God that if
he survived, he would dedicate his life to God and become a monk.
Luther read works by Saint Augustine and other
theologians. One idea stood out to him: that people could be saved through
faith alone. This idea of salvation by faith—rather than by doing good
deeds—helped him ease his own guilt and anxiety. It was also something he found
in the Bible, which made it even more important to him. This idea eventually
became a core part of his beliefs and actions later during the Reformation.
This all came together for him when he saw what he believed
to be corruption within the Catholic Church. Around that time, there was a
Dominican friar named Johann Tetzel who worked with Pope Leo X, a member of the
Medici family. Pope Leo had spent a lot of money and was looking for ways to
refill the papal treasury. So, they increased the sale of indulgences—documents
people could buy that supposedly reduced their time in purgatory. These
were sold widely, and salesmen were sent out to promote them.
Luther reacted by writing a list of 95 points of concern—what
we call his 95 Theses. He didn’t actually nail them to a church door in
Wittenberg, as many people believe. Instead, he sent a letter to the pope and
to Tetzel, calling out what he saw as abuse and overreach in the church. He
mostly focused on the sale of indulgences and didn’t even go into papal
infallibility at first.
Tetzel and other church leaders were furious. They accused
Luther of heresy and summoned him to defend his ideas. This led to a formal
meeting called the Diet of Worms in 1521. The term diet here
means a council or formal assembly, and Worms is a city in present-day Germany.
This meeting was part of the Holy Roman Empire’s way of handling political and
religious debates.
Luther was promised safe conduct—meaning they guaranteed his
safety even if he was found guilty. He went, explained his views, and was asked
to recant, or take back, what he had written. At first, the focus was on
indulgences, but the discussion shifted to the idea of papal infallibility.
According to historian Andrew Fix of Lafayette University, the church pressed
After the meeting, Luther had 48 hours to leave town. His
refusal to back down from his beliefs, especially his rejection of papal
infallibility, marked a key moment in the conflict between reformers and church
authorities.
After Martin Luther was found guilty of heresy, he was
excommunicated by the Catholic Church. But one of the local nobles helped him
escape and hid him for a while. Word of what Luther had done spread quickly,
and many people supported him. Luther probably never intended to spark a
large-scale rebellion, but that’s what happened. A lot of people, especially in
the northern parts of Europe like Germany and the Netherlands, were frustrated
with the Catholic Church—not just over indulgences, but also over taxes and
other ways the Church had control over their lives. People didn’t want to keep
sending money to Rome or have Italian Church leaders influencing their
governments.
Luther ended up becoming a kind of symbol for resistance against Church control, even if he didn’t plan for that to happen.
This whole movement also affected art. For example, Lucas
Cranach, a German artist who supported Luther’s ideas, made prints that were
basically visual arguments for Reformation beliefs. One of his woodcuts uses a
scene from Matthew, chapter 21, where Jesus enters the temple and throws
out the merchants and money changers. According to the story, Jesus said, “My
house shall be a house of prayer, but you are making it a den of thieves.” This
was about stopping people from doing business inside a sacred space on the
Sabbath, which was against Jewish law.
In Cranach’s woodcut, that story is updated. On the left
panel, Jesus is shown in 1500s-style clothing, throwing out merchants dressed
like German businessmen. The apostles are behind him. On the right panel, it
shows the pope seated with a table in front of him, counting money and
indulgences. The top of that panel is labeled A. Christie, short for Antichristus—meaning
Antichrist. The idea here is that while Jesus acted to clean up religion, the
pope was doing the opposite, focused on wealth. It’s set up as a diptych,
or two-panel image, showing this contrast.
This kind of visual propaganda wasn’t limited to art.
Pamphlets and broadsheets—single printed pages meant for wide
distribution—were used to share Reformation ideas. By the 1540s, Martin
Luther’s writings were published all over the Holy Roman Empire. One broadsheet
published in Wittenberg was titled “Roman Devil” (Der Römer Teufel) and
used bold imagery. It showed a Hellmouth, a popular image in medieval
art, which was thought to be the entrance to Hell where the damned would be
dragged during the Last Judgment.
This print ties into some of the ideas that were already
being developed earlier in art and literature, like what we saw with Giotto
in the 1300s. That work was still very much Catholic. Over time, ideas about
the pope’s role began to shift, especially through the writing of figures like Dante
and eventually Martin Luther, who believed the role of the pope had become
corrupt.
In terms of art, the rise of printmaking really
changed the game, especially in the north. Albrecht Dürer, a German artist, was
the son of a goldsmith and trained in various techniques, including
printmaking. He also traveled to Italy and was exposed to Renaissance ideas. As
the Protestant Reformation spread, and the Catholic Church lost influence in
parts of northern
Dürer found one way around that by making prints and selling
subscriptions. It worked a lot like a magazine: you could subscribe and receive
a series of printed images. Prints were cheaper than paintings and could be
made in multiples, which let him reach more people and possibly even earn more
money. Instead of making one painting for one buyer, he could make hundreds of
copies and sell them individually.
But these prints also needed to line up with the beliefs of
his audience. In Protestant areas, religious art was only acceptable if it
clearly supported Christian teachings. Art couldn’t just be decorative or
secular anymore. It had to be focused on religious instruction or moral ideas.
In the image, there’s a knight riding forward. Up in the
background is a castle, which might be a symbolic reference to the City of
God—a spiritual goal in Christian theology. The knight himself seems calm
and focused. Right beside him is a skeletal figure holding an hourglass—this is
a reference to memento mori, a Latin phrase meaning “remember that you
will die.” Behind him is a creature representing the devil. The devil looks
like he’s following, trying to distract or challenge the knight.
At the knight’s feet is a small dog, which could be a symbol
of loyalty or faithfulness. There’s also a lizard or salamander near the
ground, which might be meant to represent temptation or evil. At the very
bottom is a skull, another memento mori symbol, reminding the viewer of
mortality.
There’s also a little signature plaque worked into the image.
It says 1513 and includes Dürer’s monogram—“AD”—which acted like his logo. The
whole print was made with copperplate engraving, a technique that allowed for
really fine detail and multiple reproductions. These prints would have been
sold to individuals, especially those who supported the ideas of Martin Luther
or were part of the Protestant movement.
Imagine having a print like Knight, Death, and the Devil
in your home. If you were raising a kid and wanted to teach them to be a good
Christian, you might pull out this image and use it to explain how to resist
temptation, how to stay faithful, and what it means to live a moral life. These
prints were copper engravings, and they were detailed and reusable. Later,
we’ll look at how copper engraving differs from woodcut and intaglio
printing.
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Andrea Mantegna’s Lamentation over the Dead Christ is a tempera painting on canvas, likely created in the late 15th century. Mantegna painted this work in Mantua, where he was a court artist for the ruling Gonzaga family. The painting is now in the Pinacoteca di Brera in Milan, but where it was meant for is unknown. Unlike many religious paintings from this period, which were commissioned for churches or private chapels, there are no records confirming who commissioned this work or where it was first displayed. Some scholars have suggested it may have been intended for private devotion, while others believe it was part of a larger altarpiece that was later separated.
The painting follows the Christian tradition of depicting the Lamentation, a moment after Jesus’ crucifixion when his followers mourned his death. This scene was commonly painted during the Renaissance and was included in church decorations, altarpieces, and religious panels. The composition emphasizes Jesus' humanity by focusing on his body rather than surrounding narrative elements.
Andrea Mantegna’s painting shows Jesus reclining in a foreshortened pose, where his feet are closest to the viewer and project forward. His wounds from the stigmata are visible on his hands and feet. On the left side, Mary leans over him in mourning. Jesus has been removed from the cross and is about to be placed in the tomb.
The way Mantegna uses foreshortening makes Jesus look different from how the body would appear in real life. He probably does this out of respect to the viewer and Jesus. (Who wants dirty feet in their face.) A true foreshortened view would make the feet seem much larger compared to the rest of the body. A student drawing on the right side shows this effect—wherethe feet in the foreground are very big while the head and book in the background appear much smaller. Mantegna does not exaggerate the feet this way, likely because making them too large would shift attention to them rather than the rest of the scene. Adjusting the perspective this way makes the image more balanced for the viewer.
Jesus'
drapery is also carefully arranged, outlining his body. Art historian Leo
Steinberg discussed this in his book The Sexuality of Christ,
arguing that some artists emphasized Jesus’ human form to show that he had a
physical body like any other man but chose not to give in to earthly
temptations. This follows ideas from Platonism, where physical beauty
and spiritual purity are linked. Jesus’ muscular body resembles classical Greek
sculptures, showing a connection to humanism and Renaissance
interest in ancient art.
Foreshortening was a challenge for artists, and different techniques were used to get proportions right. Leon Battista Alberti, an early theorist on perspective, wrote a treatise explaining how artists could use mathematical systems to depict depth. Later, in the 1520s, Albrecht Dürer, a German artist, created diagrams showing how to measure foreshortened objects accurately. One method, called squaring up, used a grid on paper and a wire veil to help artists copy what they saw more accurately. By keeping their eye in the same position and drawing each section of the grid separately, they could create a more realistic sense of depth.
Another illustration shows an artist using a similar device to draw a lute in perspective. A recreation of this tool in the lower right corner demonstrates how it worked. These perspectivetools helped Renaissance artists experiment with linear perspective and create more convincing space in their paintings.
Mantegna and other artists of this time adjusted foreshortening and perspective to fit their artistic and religious goals. While they were interested in reviving classical techniques, they also made changes to ensure that their work fit with Christian ideas and respect for the viewer. Many of these techniques, like linear perspective and careful use of chiaroscuro, became standard in later Renaissance painting.
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Another fresco by Masaccio, The Tribute Money, uses similar techniques to create volume and realism. In this fresco, Peter is shown paying the Roman tax collector. The use of chiaroscuro—an Italian term meaning "light and shadow"—helps define the forms, making them appear three-dimensional. A highlight, transitional tones, and cast shadows make objects, like Peter’s head and drapery, appear solid. The light source in The Tribute Money is consistent, coming from the upper right, which helps unify the figures and the background. The shadows fall naturally, similar to how light works in real life.
Masaccio builds on techniques developed by Giotto, who experimented with intuitive perspective. While Giotto used shading and overlapping figures to suggest depth, Masaccio takes it further by applying mathematical perspective. This makes his paintings appear more structured and spatially accurate.
In The Tribute Money, located in the Brancacci Chapel in Santa Maria del Carmine in Florence, Masaccio combines two biblical stories from the Gospel of Matthew, chapters 17 and 22. The scene shows Jesus and his disciples being questioned about paying taxes. Jesus tells Peter to catch a fish, which will have a coin in its mouth, enough to pay the tax. The story ispainted as a continuous narrative, meaning multiple moments from the story appear in a single image.
Above this fresco, another panel shows The Expulsion of Adam and Eve from Paradise. The Archangel Michael is pushing them out of the Garden of Eden. Their bodies are idealized with muscular forms, similar to ancient Greek sculptures. The lighting and shading in the fresco emphasize their expressions and gestures. Some scholars suggest Adam covers his face out of shame, while Eve hides her body in embarrassment.
In The Tribute Money, figures stand in contrapposto, a natural stance where weight shifts onto one leg. This technique, first used in ancient Greek sculptures, makes the figures appear balanced. The tax collector is positioned in the center, with his hand outstretched. Peter, on the right, gives him the coin, while on the left, Peter is also shown pulling the coin from the fish’s mouth. Jesus is in the center, surrounded by disciples, pointing toward Peter.
The perspective lines of the fresco lead to a single vanishing point located behind Jesus’s head. This technique directs attention to the central figure. The background also fades in color, using aerial perspective (or atmospheric perspective), where distant objects appear lighter and less detailed, similar to how landscapes look in real life.
The fresco also reflects theological ideas from Augustine of Hippo, who wrote about the City of God and the City of Man. The right side, where taxes are paid, represents the temporary world of men, while the left side, with mountains and open space, symbolizes the eternal world of God. This is a “perspective” augmented by Masaccio’s use of linear perspective. The placement of Jesus in the center, his head placed in front of the vanishing point, visually separates these two realms.
Masaccio’s The Tribute Money tells a biblical story using symbols that divide the painting into two parts, representing two different worlds. The right side, where Peter hands a coin to the tax collector, is set in front of a building. This part of the fresco represents the City of Man, the temporary world where people live, work, and follow earthly laws. The left side of the fresco, where Peter pulls the coin from the mouth of a fish near the water, is surrounded by mountains and open space. This represents the City of God, which is eternal and connected to faith and divine truth.
Matthew Chapter 17
24 When they came to Capernaum, the collectors of the temple tax approached Peter and said, "Doesn't your teacher pay the temple tax?"
25 "Yes," he said. When he came into the house, before he had time to speak, Jesus asked him, "What is your opinion, Simon? From whom do the kings of the earth take tolls or census tax? From their subjects or from foreigners?"
26 When he said, "From foreigners," Jesus said to him, "Then the subjects are exempt.
27 But that we may not offend them, go to the sea, drop in a hook, and take the first fish that comes up. Open its mouth and you will find a coin worth twice the temple tax. Give that to them for me and for you."
Matthew Chapter 22
15 Then the Pharisees went off and plotted how they might entrap him in speech.
16 They sent their disciples to him, with the Herodians, saying, "Teacher, we know that you are a truthful man and that you teach the way of God in accordance with the truth. And you are not concerned with anyone's opinion, for you do not regard a person's status.
17 Tell us, then, what is your opinion: Is it lawful to pay the census tax to Caesar or not?"
18 Knowing their malice, Jesus said, "Why are you testing me, you hypocrites?
19 Show me the coin that pays the census tax." Then they handed him the Roman coin.
20 He said to them, "Whose image is this and whose inscription?"
21 They replied, "Caesar's." At that he said to them, "Then repay to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and to God what belongs to God."
22 When they heard this they were amazed, and leaving him they went away.
The story in the painting comes from the Gospel of Matthew, where tax collectors ask Peter if Jesus pays the temple tax. Jesus tells Peter to catch a fish, and inside its mouth, he will find a coin to pay the tax. This story connects to another passage in Matthew, where the Pharisees try to trick Jesus by asking whether people should pay taxes to the Roman Emperor, Caesar. If Jesus says no, he could be accused of disobeying Roman rule. If he says yes, it could seem like he supports Roman occupation. Instead, Jesus asks them to show him a Roman coin and points out that it has Caesar’s image on it. He then says, “Give to Caesar what belongs to Caesar, and to God what belongs to God.”
The painting visually separates these two ideas. The right side, with the building, represents the world where people must follow human laws, like paying taxes. The architecture has carefully drawn perspective lines that lead toward the vanishing point behind Jesus’ head. This part of the painting is structured and orderly, symbolizing human civilization and the rules of society.
The left side, where Peter retrieves the coin from the fish, is open and natural. The mountains in the background fade into the distance using aerial perspective, a technique where distant objects appear lighter and blurrier. This side represents the City of God, which is eternal and not ruled by human governments. Nature stretches beyond what can be seen, symbolizing the endlessness of divine truth.
Jesus is placed at the center of the composition, dividing the two realms. He points toward Peter, directing him to get the coin, but he also acts as a bridge between the physical world and the spiritual one. His placement suggests that faith does not ignore worldly responsibilities, but it also points toward something greater than earthly life.
The tax collector stands in contrapposto, a natural pose where his weight shifts onto one leg. His bright red robe makes him stand out. In the right scene, he is reversed, mirroring his earlier stance as he receives the coin. Peter appears three times in the painting, first listening to Jesus, then getting the coin from the fish, and finally paying the tax. This use of continuous narrative—showing multiple moments of a story in one image—was common in Renaissance frescoes.
The halos above Jesus and the apostles are elliptical instead of flat circles, following the perspective lines of the painting. This was different from earlier religious art, where halos were usually drawn as floating disks. The soft shading on the figures, created with chiaroscuro, helps make them look more three-dimensional.
Masaccio’s composition reinforces the message of the story. Jesus acknowledges that people must participate in the City of Man, following earthly rules, but he also emphasizes that the City of God is separate and eternal. The painting visually divides these two ideas, using architecture to symbolize human law and nature to represent divine truth. The perspective lines lead the viewer’s eye toward Jesus, reinforcing his role as the one who connects both worlds.
Masaccio’s fresco techniques influenced later artists like Leonardo da Vinci, who used pyramidal composition to create balanced figures, and Mantegna, who experimented with foreshortening. These techniques continued to shape Renaissance painting, setting the foundation for realistic depictions of space and form.
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