Mystery drawing

Is the drawing of a young Milanese girl really by famous artist Leonardo da Vinci?

A 

In early 1998, a New York auction house featured a portrait of a young woman that failed to generate much excitement among bidders. According to the auction's reference catalogue, it was a 19th-century German piece executed in ink and colored chalk, heavily mimicking the older Renaissance tradition. Kate Ganz, a local art dealer, acquired the piece for a modest $21,850. Nearly a decade passed before Peter Silverman, a collector from Canada, bought the artwork for a similar sum, suspecting it might genuinely originate from the Renaissance era. Ganz had previously suggested that the creator was heavily inspired by Leonardo da Vinci. This prompted Silverman to consider a thrilling possibility: could this be an authentic masterpiece by Leonardo himself? Such a find would be extraordinary, given that over 75 years had elapsed since the world last verified a new painting by the Renaissance master. Furthermore, history held no documentation of Leonardo executing such a piece, and absolutely no copies of the portrait were known to exist. If genuine, its half-millennium disappearance remained a profound mystery.

B 

Seeking expert analysis, Silverman forwarded a digital file of the piece to Martin Kemp, an esteemed Oxford art history professor and Leonardo authority. Fascinated, Kemp traveled to Zurich to examine the work, which was stored safely in a secure vault. Collaborating with Pascal Cotte from Paris-based Lumiere Technology, Kemp utilized advanced multi-wavelength imaging to examine the multi-layered structure of the drawing. This examination revealed compelling indicators of Leonardo's craftsmanship: the exquisite color palette, the clean execution of lines, and the highly specific strokes visible within the darker shaded sections. Furthermore, the captivating expression on the young girl's face ‒ blending poise with deep contemplation ‒ seemed to capture Leonardo's core philosophy that true portraiture must mirror the internal workings and "motions of the mind."

C 

To build a solid case, Kemp required scientific validation that the work was produced during Leonardo's lifetime (1452‒1519). Physical tests indicated that the artist chose calfskin as the canvas ‒ a standard practice of that epoch ‒ and radiocarbon dating tracked its creation to a window between 1440 and 1650. Analysis of the attire further locked the subject into the 1490s Milanese aristocracy, characterized by intricately braided hair. This aligned perfectly with Leonardo’s tenure in Milan, where he frequently painted members of the ducal inner circle. Moreover, tiny puncture holes along the side indicated that the sheet had originally been bound inside a book, likely a custom volume created to celebrate a noble wedding.

D 

Kemp's historical tracking eventually yielded an identity: Bianca Sforza, the daughter of the Duke of Milan. In 1496, she wed Galeazzo Sanseverino, a military chief and one of Leonardo's prominent patrons, though her life cut short tragically just months post-wedding. When Kemp and Cotte compiled their extensive data into a 2010 publication, the response was highly polarized. While some notable experts endorsed the claim, others remained deeply unconvinced, pointing toward the threat of an exceptionally skillful imitation. Skeptics found it hard to believe that such a masterpiece could suddenly emerge out of absolute obscurity without any clear provenance.

E 

The missing link arrived unexpectedly from David Wright, an art history professor at the University of South Florida. Observing the intense academic debate from afar, Wright reached out to Kemp out of the blue. He proposed that the answers might reside within the National Library of Poland in Warsaw, specifically within a historical text known as the Sforziad. As a specialist in Renaissance imagery, Wright identified this text as a luxury book produced explicitly for Bianca Sforza's nuptials ‒ precisely the kind of high-profile event that would warrant a portrait by Leonardo.

F 

Intrigued, Kemp and Cotte made the trip to Warsaw to inspect the volume. Utilizing ultra-close photography, Cotte discovered that a single sheet had been cleanly excised from the precise section of the Sforziad where an introductory illustration would traditionally sit. When they carefully placed a scaled replica of the girl's portrait into the gap, it matched the dimensions and stitch patterns flawlessly. For Kemp, this physical alignment provided definitive confirmation that the illustration was indeed a genuine Leonardo creation that had spent centuries nestled quietly on a library shelf.

G 

Historical records suggested the Sforziad found its way to Poland during the early 16th century following a marital alliance between the Sforza lineage and Polish royalty. The individual leaf was likely separated from the binding much later, possibly during a restoration or rebinding phase in the 17th or 18th century. Though the exact path of the drawing becomes obscure after that point, it eventually ended up in the private collection of an Italian art restorer, whose widow ultimately consigned it to the New York auction house where its modern journey began.

H 

This era has proven to be incredibly thrilling for enthusiasts of Leonardo's work. Not long ago, the National Gallery in London put on display a long-lost painting depicting Christ holding a crystalline orb. Meanwhile, in Florence, investigators tracking Leonardo’s missing mural, the Battle of Anghiari ‒ unseen since the mid-16th century ‒ have employed advanced non-invasive radar systems to determine if it survives behind a later wall in the Palazzo Vecchio, though conclusive proof remains elusive.

I 

The validation of historical art pieces is rarely driven by cold objectivity; instead, it is frequently swayed by professional reputation, subjective aesthetics, and the threat of litigation. Seeking to establish a broader consensus, Kemp distributed his comprehensive data to several of the world's leading art authorities, yet nearly all of them refused to issue a formal opinion. ‘Achieving universal acceptance is a slow process,’ Kemp admits, ‘but I remain entirely secure in our methodology.’ Ultimately, if the portrait is universally embraced and takes its place on a museum wall as an undeniable Leonardo, it is guaranteed to captivate the world.