Madonna and Child with Angels, c.1455 Fra Filippo Lippi (1406-1469)

We create our paintings with museum quality and covering the highest academic standards. Once we get your order, it will be entirely hand-painted with oil on canvas. All the materials we use are the highest level, being totally artist graded painting materials and linen canvas.

We will add 1.6" (4 cm) additional blank canvas all over the painting for stretching.

High quality and detailing in every inch are time consuming. The reproduction of Fra Filippo Lippi also needs time to dry in order to be completely ready for shipping, as this is crucial to not be damaged during transportation.
Based on the size, level of detail and complexity we need 8-9 weeks to complete the process.

In case the delivery date needs to be extended in time, or we are overloaded with requests, there will be an email sent to you sharing the new timelines of production and delivery.

TOPofART wants to remind you to keep patient, in order to get you the highest quality, being our mission to fulfill your expectations.

We not stretch and frame our oil paintings due to several reasons:
Painting reproduction is a high quality expensive product, which we cannot risk to damage by sending it being stretched.
Also, there are postal restrictions, regarding the size of the shipment.
Additionally, due to the dimensions of the stretched canvas, the shipment price may exceed the price of the product itself.

You can stretch and frame your painting in your local frame-shop.

Once the painting Madonna and Child with Angels is ready and dry, it will be shipped to your delivery address. The canvas will be rolled-up in a secure postal tube.

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The paintings we create are only of museum quality. Our academy graduated artists will never allow a compromise in the quality and detail of the ordered painting. TOPofART do not work, and will never allow ourselves to work with low quality studios from the Far East. We are based in Europe, and quality is our highest priority.

Mary’s fingertips meet with the utmost care, not clenched but laid together like two pale leaves. That small gesture tells us nearly everything about Fra Filippo Lippi’s Madonna and Child with Angels, painted around 1455 and now in the Uffizi in Florence. Devotion is present, certainly, but it has been softened by tenderness, by maternal concentration, by the slight sadness in Mary’s lowered face. She looks at the child as mothers do when they are both absorbed and already afraid.

Framed by cool grey pietra serena, the figures sit close to the front of the picture, almost as if a Florentine sculpted relief had begun to breathe. Only fragments of the throne appear: a curled golden arm, an embroidered cushion with tiny pearls and hanging tassels. Look at that cushion. Its patterned surface is so carefully worked that it feels weighted, costly, faintly scented with stored fabric and household air.

Behind them, space opens suddenly. Rocks rise in jagged brown ridges, a road threads away, buildings settle on the horizon, and beyond all this lies a strip of sea under a restless sky. Lippi does something quietly daring here. He gives us a sacred close-up, then refuses to seal it off from the world. The halos are no heavy discs; they are fine, nearly transparent circles and rays, sketched across the landscape like light remembered rather than asserted.

Fra Filippo Lippi’s Virgin is dressed as an elegant woman of his own Florence. Her pearl-trimmed hair, veils, and dark blue robe belong to contemporary fashion as much as to heaven. This is not irreverence. It is intimacy. One might imagine that the sacred becomes more persuasive because it has borrowed the manners of real life. The child, swaddled only lightly, reaches toward her with both arms, his small hand pressing into her bodice. He is supported by two angels, but the blond angel in front nearly steals the scene: smiling sideways, practical and mischievous, like a child assistant who knows he is helping to stage a miracle.

Lippi’s line is crisp without becoming dry. Flesh is modelled with milky warmth, hair with wiry curls, fabric with fine, accumulated strokes. Compared with Fra Angelico, whose sweetness often remains liturgical, Lippi brings the holy family into a more human temperature. No wonder the young Botticelli learned from him; the long oval face, the tender tilt of the head, the eloquence of contour already point toward that later Florentine grace.

Yet the lasting note is quieter than influence. It is the hush between mother and child, while the smiling angel looks out and lets us in on the secret: heaven, here, has the weight of a baby in someone’s arms.