7 Self-Portraits Hidden in the Works of Great Artists

From Velázquez to Clara Peeters, discover the story behind some of art history's most subtle selfies

Art challenges us, captivates us, and calls our attention. Sometimes, an artwork's appeal is pure aesthetic pleasure—we're seduced by color and beauty—and at other times, it’s the little details and symbolism that leave us thinking.

The seven paintings we’re about to examine below include an extra, striking detail: the artists who created them allow themselves to be seen. Some break the implicit pact in their work and dare to look at us directly as if greeting us across time, others reveal themselves ambiguously and poetically—but they all have something to say.

Why did these greats decide to hide in their canvases? What did they want to say? Keep reading to discover the reasons for these subtle self-portraits below.

Las Meninas, by Diego de Velázquez

A status symbol

Widely considered one of the most important artworks in history, Las Meninas (Maids of Honor) by Diego de Velázquez was painted in 1656. The group portrait portrays the Infanta Margarita Teresa, the daughter of the King of Spain Philip IV, in the painter’s studio in the Royal Alcázar Palace in Madrid.

The painting is on display in Madrid’s Prado Museum and has become a symbol of the city—you can find it in statutes, merchandising, and even street art. While the ladies in waiting are the main focus, it’s especially interesting to discover the presence of its artist.

Velázquez paints himself looking serious, intellectual, and in deep concentration in the middle of the royal family’s intimate home setting.

Art historians note that his appearance is very innovative for its time. Flipping the traditional court portrait, while Velázquez paints a picture of the king and queen—who are reflected in the mirror image posing—Las Meninas offers us an almost backstage view, allowing us to glimpse the status of court painters at that time.

The School of Athens, by Raphael

A nod to the viewer

Painted between 1509 and 1511, Raphael's The School of Athens is a Renaissance masterpiece. The artist was already well known when he painted it, particularly for his small portraits and religious paintings on wood. Creating this fresco in the Vatican, however, was an opportunity to show off his work on a larger scale.

Commissioned by Pope Julius II to decorate the second-floor apartments, it's believed to have been painted while Michelangelo was also painting the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

In The School of Athens, Raphael pays homage to the history of philosophy, featuring historical characters like Plato and Aristotle, Socrates, Pythagoras, Euclid, and Ptolemy.

But there’s a striking detail: the only figure actually looking at the viewer, as if acknowledging that he’s being seen, is Raphael himself. This gesture was considered very daring at the time and still arouses intrigue among its audience today.

Still Life with Cheeses, Almonds and Pretzels, by Clara Peeters

A poetic reflection

It was no easy feat to create a self-portrait as a seventeenth-century female artist; you had to do so with discretion and ambiguity. And that's exactly what Clara Peeters did. One of the most talented still-life painters of her time, she specialized in still lifes featuring beautiful objects, delicious fruits, and expensive food—a style known as banketje in Dutch ("banquet pieces").

In the painting, you can easily pick out the butter curls and bread, or the almonds and figs—but, where’s Peeters?

If you look carefully, you can spot her reflection on the lid of the jug behind the cheese. While it’s hard to make out her features clearly, she still stated her presence in an enigmatic figure, which at that time spoke volumes

Arnolfini Portrait, by Jan van Eyck

The witness

Jan van Eyck's 1434 portrait painted in Bruges, Belgium, shows the Arnolfinis standing in their bedroom. The husband blesses his wife, who offers him her right hand while resting her left on her belly. It’s a theatrical, ceremonial pose, in which some specialists see subtle humor.

Some art historians believe the scene captures a secret wedding at which the artist—captured in the mirror reflection—was the only witness, but it's not known for sure whether this is true.

The Arnolfini Portrait is shrouded in mystery—even its provenance. Once part of the Royal Palace collection in Madrid, and then seemingly lost during the Napoleonic Wars, The National Gallery in London bought the painting from an English family in 1842. For thirteen years it hung between two windows in their main bedroom without their knowing its rich history.

La Fée Eléctricité, by Raoul Dufy

A gesture of humility

Known for his Fauvist style featuring explosive colors and broad brush strokes, French artist Raoul Dufy was commissioned to paint an expansive fresco for the 1937 International Exhibition in Paris.

Tasked by France’s national electricity provider EDF to create a piece that celebrated the history of electricity and its applications in the French capital, La Fée Eléctricité (The Electricity Fairy) was born. The incredible work, designed for a slightly curved wall at the entrance to the Pavillon de la Lumière et de l’Électricité (The Pavillion of Light and Electricity), took Dufy eight months to complete.

The finished work—measuring 600m2—tells a rich history of electricity, including 110 portraits of the scientists and inventors who played a role in developing this science.

These figures include some of the major artists who helped develop color theory based on light. And this respectful gathering includes a little man dressed in blue, who many believe was the artist’s humble and discreet way of including himself in his own work.

Last Judgment, by Michelangelo

A biblical metaphor

In this masterpiece covering the wall behind the Sistine Chapel’s altar, Michelangelo painted over 300 peerless figures to tell the story of the Last Judgment. Christ sits in the center, with his hand raised in judgment of the damned, who sink down to hell. The Virgin Mary sits at his left hand and looks over the saved. This central pairing is surrounded by a group of saints.

And right in the middle of the painting, many art historians agree there's a self-portrait: look closely at the skin hanging from the hands of Saint Bartholomew, and it's said you'll see Michelangelo’s eyeless face. The saint, who was martyred and flayed alive, holds the knife used to torture him—only on this occasion, he isn’t holding his own skin, but Michelangelo’s.

The Coronation of Napoleon, by Jacques-Louis David

The class divide

Napoleon I commissioned Jacques-Louis David to create this oil painting in 1807, depicting his grand coronation at the Notre Dame cathedral in Paris.

Louis David captures the moment when Napoleon crowned his own wife, Josephine de Beauharnais. Famous faces in the crowd include Pope Pius VII, several ambassadors, and Napoleon’s mother Letizia Bonaparte (although she didn’t actually attend the ceremony).

And then there's the artist himself who was present, depicted in a lower position on the second level of the gallery. The painting shows where he actually stood, in the row furthest from the podium.

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