The Raising of Lazarus, c.1630 van Rijn Rembrandt (1606-1669)

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 van Rijn Rembrandt 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 The Raising of Lazarus is ready and dry, it will be shipped to your delivery address. The canvas will be rolled-up in a secure postal tube.

We offer free shipping as well as paid express transportation services.

After adding your artwork to the shopping cart, you will be able to check the delivery price using the Estimate Shipping and Tax tool.

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.

A hand rises into the gloom, palm open, as if the air itself has weight. Rembrandt plants Christ at the mouth of a cave, not on a grand stage but in a cramped, earthen darkness where faith has to work hard. The Raising of Lazarus turns on that raised arm, yet the face beneath it is what stays with you: alert, inward, and edged with apprehension as well as resolve.

Look how little room there is to breathe. Witnesses bunch together on the left, their bodies stacked and compressed, each reaction slightly different in temperature. One figure leans forward like he cannot quite believe his own eyes; another lifts a hand in a half-protective, half-prayerful gesture. A woman’s pale face catches the light and opens into a soundless exclamation. This is storytelling as a chain of realizations, and it feels humanly observed rather than staged.

Darkness does not swallow colour here; it shelters it. Against the murk, a sleeve reads as bruised purple, a turban as warm rose, a small note of aqua glimmers and then recedes. Rembrandt’s light is Baroque theatre, yes, but it is also practical: it finds cheekbones, knuckles, the rim of an eye, and then lets the rest fall away. That measured illumination has a hush to it, like a room where everyone has stopped breathing.

Down at the lower right, Lazarus emerges in chalky whites that seem almost cold to the touch. His shroud is painted with thin, dragged strokes, and you can see the grainy weave of the fabric suggested rather than described. Perhaps the most telling detail is his right hand: it stretches outward, uncertain, as if waking is as frightening as death. Nearby, the tomb’s stone lip is a broad, rough plane of browns and ochres, scumbled and scraped, solid enough to feel under your fingertips.

High on the right wall hang a quiver and scabbard, catching pinpricks of highlight. They are oddly mundane, like forgotten belongings in a cave, and they nudge the miracle back into the everyday world Rembrandt knew so well in the Dutch Golden Age. One might imagine a faint damp smell, earth and cloth, as the impossible becomes matter-of-fact. Caravaggio would have sharpened the drama into a single knife-edge; Rembrandt lets it unfold as shared astonishment, tenderly, in the dark.