Cityscape Art Through the Ages: From the Renaissance to the Modern Era
Written by Pneuma Artist, Matthew Holden Bates
Matthew Holden Bates in the studio in Florence, Italy.
I’ve heard it said that it takes about ten years for a budding artist to find their style. For me, it took about eight. My eureka moment came when I was twenty-four years old. I was browsing a discount bookstore on Via Borgo San Lorenzo in Florence, rummaging through a chaotic pile of books in a bin. Nothing was in order—just a jumble of random volumes. Yet, somehow, amidst the mess, I found a gem: a book of photorealist paintings by Richard Estes. I even remember how much it cost, only ten thousand Lire. It was a book that changed my life.
The paintings inside were stunningly intricate: bustling city streets with people, architecture, cars, advertisements, pigeons—every detail rendered with incredible precision. Estes painted every brick, every window, every reflection. It was daunting, but I knew, deep in my bones, that I wanted to create paintings like his. Even though I had no idea how to start, I felt it was my destiny.
I arrived in Florence as a wide-eyed twenty-year-old, studying art history at Gonzaga University under the brilliant Professoressa Mercedes Carrara. Her teachings transformed my understanding of the Renaissance. Touring Florence’s museums and churches with her opened my eyes to the genius of the city’s masters. I was inspired, and I remain so to this day. Professoressa Carrara’s classes introduced me to the humanism of the Renaissance—the Florentines’ ambition to build a “new Athens” after the stagnation of the feudal age. Imagine living in a city where the Duomo rises triumphantly into the sky, surrounded by creative titans whose work still shapes our world. One of those visionaries was Leon Battista Alberti.
The Influence of Alberti
Leon Battista Alberti (1404–1472) was a cornerstone of Renaissance thought. In his treatise De Pictura (On Painting, 1435), Alberti codified the principles of linear perspective, providing artists with a method to depict three-dimensional spaces on two-dimensional surfaces. His emphasis on harmony, proportion, and human observation revolutionized art and inspired new approaches to cityscape painting. His later treatise, De Re Aedificatoria (On the Art of Building), extended these ideas to urban design, advocating for symmetrical, orderly cities that reflected both civic pride and divine harmony. While Alberti wasn’t a painter, his theories deeply influenced the art and architecture of his time.
Leon Battista Alberti, Ideal City , ca. 1450. Tempera on panel, 67.5 x 239.5 cm. Urbino, National Gallery of the Marches.
This Renaissance ideal of creating harmony across an entire urban environment fascinates me. It wasn’t just about designing a building or a square—it was about envisioning a cohesive city. This vision is vividly expressed in works like Pietro Perugino’s The Delivery of the Keys to Saint Peter (1481–1482). In this Sistine Chapel fresco, Perugino applied Alberti’s principles of linear perspective, centering the composition on a classical temple that symbolizes divine and civic order. The cityscape isn’t merely a backdrop; it’s integral to the story, reflecting Renaissance ideals of geometry and harmony.
Pietro Perugino, The Delivery of the Keys to Saint Peter (1481–1482). Fresco, 360 cm x 550 cm. Sistine Chapel.
From the Ideal City to the Real One
Fast-forward to the 18th century and the work of Giovanni Antonio Canal, better known as Canaletto (1697–1768). Born in Venice, Canaletto captured his city with unparalleled realism, breaking away from the Renaissance concept of the “ideal city.” Using a camera obscura—a device that projected scenes onto a surface for tracing—Canaletto created stunningly accurate depictions of Venice. His paintings were a significant departure from the imagined cityscapes of the Renaissance. Instead of designing the ideal, he painted what he saw, paving the way for modern cityscape artists like Richard Estes.
Canaletto, The Bacino di S. Marco on Ascension Day (1733–1734). Oil on canvas, 76.8 cm x 125.4 cm.
The Photorealists and My Inspiration
By the 1960s, photography had progressed far beyond the camera obscura, offering artists the ability to capture high-resolution images of any location. This advancement opened new possibilities for painters, allowing them to depict scenes with unprecedented precision. By the early 1970s, Photorealism had taken New York City by storm, astonishing audiences with its meticulous, photographic quality in oil paintings. Like Canaletto before him, Richard Estes approached his work with an obsessive attention to detail, though his paintings were never direct replicas of his photographs. He often added subtle “easter eggs,” such as his signature cleverly hidden on a storefront or tucked into the details of a waterfall in his Florentine painting. Estes’s work reflects the profound impact of technology on modern cityscapes, inviting viewers to experience urban environments in an entirely new way. Rather than isolating one element, he gave equal weight to every detail in his compositions, from reflections on a subway car to the people who inhabit his urban worlds. Notably, the figures in his paintings are rarely the focal point; instead, they hold the same significance as any other element, seamlessly blending into the intricate tapestry of his vision.
Richard Estes, Times Square (2004). Oil on canvas, 162.5 cm x 94 cm.
When I began exploring cityscape painting in the 1990s, digital photography was just emerging. My first digital camera, the Nikon Coolpix, had a resolution of only two megapixels and could store a mere sixteen photos, but it was revolutionary for me. It allowed me to capture Florence in new ways, stitching multiple images together to create panoramic compositions. My first major cityscape, of Santa Trinita Bridge, was born from this process:
Santa Trinita Bridge, Matthew Holden Bates (2002).Oil on canvas, 110 cm x 45 cm.
Since then, I have created an extensive collection of cityscape paintings (you can explore them in my Cityscape Gallery). Over the years, as technology advanced, the improvement in digital photography — from increased megapixels to higher resolutions — has played a transformative role in my creative process. These advancements have allowed me to capture an unprecedented level of detail, which is crucial for the hyper-realistic style that defines my work. Photography has become an indispensable tool in my art, not merely for reference but as a means to uncover intricacies invisible to the naked eye.
The ability of a digital camera to capture minute details has revolutionized my understanding of architectural complexity. Structures like the intricate facade of Florence’s Duomo offer a perfect example. At a glance, one might say, “I’ve been to Florence; I’ve seen the Duomo.” But to truly see it, to grasp its staggering complexity, requires a different level of engagement. Painting the facade goes far beyond merely reproducing its appearance; it demands a profound understanding of its details. Every marble pattern, every sculptural nuance, and every architectural line must be studied, interpreted, and brought to life on canvas. This process is painstaking and requires countless hours of observation and analysis.
Often, while working on a painting, I find myself returning to the original location, examining it anew, this time with an artist's eye rather than a camera lens. Photography is an invaluable tool, but it is ultimately limited — a two-dimensional representation of a three-dimensional reality. Photography provides the framework, capturing details and proportions, but the act of painting transforms this information into something more. It allows me to reimagine and reinterpret, imbuing the scene with the energy and spirit of the place.
Beyond the technical accuracy photography enables, my digital preparation incorporates timeless artistic principles like the Fibonacci sequence, also known as the Golden Ratio. This mathematical concept has fascinated thinkers and creators for centuries, appearing in the natural world, from the spirals of galaxies to the proportions of the human body. The sequence begins with 0 and 1, and each subsequent number is the sum of the two preceding it: 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, and so on.
You might ask, "Why does this matter in art?" The answer lies in its inherent harmony. When you divide two successive numbers in the Fibonacci series, the ratio (approximately 1.618) reveals a proportionality that is naturally pleasing to the human eye. It is found in everything from the dimensions of the Parthenon to the spirals of nautilus shells, and when applied to painting, it brings an organic balance to the composition.
By planning my cityscapes digitally, I can integrate the Golden Ratio into my layouts, ensuring a sense of order and natural flow. This preparation stage enables me to organize my subjects with precision, aligning elements in ways that feel intuitive and balanced. For example, in my painting Lover’s Bridge in Verona, the structure and placement of elements on the canvas reflect the Fibonacci sequence, guiding the viewer’s eye seamlessly across the composition.
Lover’s Bridge in Verona, Matthew Holden Bates (2011). Oil on Canvas, 180 cm x 80 cm.
Each cityscape is an enormous undertaking, often requiring years to complete. The size of the canvases, combined with the sheer volume of detail, immerses me deeply in the worlds I paint. The people I include in my scenes, though not portraits, take on a life of their own during the creative process. I imagine stories for them, fleshing out their lives and personalities, which adds another layer of narrative to my paintings. This fictionalizing doesn’t just animate the people; it animates the whole painting. By the time a piece is finished, it has transcended being a mere representation of a place — it has become a living world, born from a mix of observation, imagination, and creative freedom.
Sitting on the Steps of the Duomo, Matthew Holden Bates (2012). Oil on canvas, 100 cm x 125 cm.
In the above painting, take a look at the young woman sitting on the steps of the Duomo, her Union Jack tote bag resting casually at her side. I decided her fictional name was Claire Keenly. I have stared at this painting in my living room for years. ‘Claire’ has lingered in my imagination all these years, becoming much more than a passing figure in a painting. ‘Claire’ felt like a story waiting to be told, and I knew she was destined to be my protagonist. This realization led to the creation of my novel, also titled Sitting on the Steps of the Duomo. The novel tells the story of Claire, a young British art student who comes to Florence to study drawing and painting. It begins in January of 2011 and unfolds over the course of a semester. Through a series of adventures, heartbreaks, triumphs, and personal discoveries, Claire’s journey brings her to a pivotal moment: sitting on the steps of the Duomo in April, where her transformation is complete. It’s remarkable to think that an oil painting — a frozen moment in time — could evolve into a novel, an entire narrative of growth and self-discovery. For me, these two projects are intertwined; they are different expressions of the same inspiration, two ways of capturing and exploring the essence of Claire’s character and her world.
“Sitting on the Steps of the Duomo” (Claire Detail)
While the American Photorealists first inspired me to become a cityscape painter, my deepest influence has always come from Florence and the Renaissance. Living in the city where the Renaissance began, I feel as though its energy has seeped into my very being. The artistic ideals and humanistic values of the Renaissance masters are more than historical; they are alive here, and they have profoundly shaped the way I see and create. This influence goes beyond technique or subject matter; it’s spiritual. My paintings may be rooted in the precision of photorealism, but they also strive to capture something intangible — the soul of a place, the echoes of its history, and the stories of its people.
In many ways, I think of myself as a “Manneristic Photorealist” Because I paint in the manner of the Renaissance, but use modern techniques. Like the Renaissance masters, I aim to depict more than what is visible; I try to convey what is felt. My approach marries the precision and detail made possible by modern photographic technology with the artistic sensibilities of the Renaissance. For example, my use of light and composition often takes cues from artists like Michelangelo and Botticelli, while my treatment of architecture reflects the reverence Alberti and Brunelleschi had for proportion and perspective.
To live and work in Florence is to be surrounded by beauty and history at every turn. Whether I’m walking through the Piazza della Signoria or crossing the Ponte Vecchio, I am constantly reminded of the legacy of those who came before me. This city, its art, and its spirit have left an indelible mark on me, shaping not just my work but also my identity as an artist. For this, I am endlessly grateful. Every brushstroke I make is a tribute to Florence, a city that continues to inspire me in ways I never imagined possible.
I would like to thank Brett & Olivia Colbert and everyone in the Pneuma community for giving me the chance to share my story with you. I look forward to reading your comments. I would be very happy to discuss further the art of the cityscape with you in the near future.
Matthew Holden Bates
Firenze, Italy
My novel “Sitting on the Steps of the Duomo” is in the final editing stage and will be published soon.