Two thirds into my European jaunt, I spent the last sunlit hours in Milan inside the Pinacoteca di Brera, the pedagogical mothership of which was founded by none other than Maria Theresa, of Habsburg extraction (oh Vienna). I had forgotten how harrowing Mantegna’s dead Christ actually was, featuring some of the saddest tears ever painted — globules of the deepest grief and loss. And Mantegna’s extreme foreshortening echoed in Tintoretto’s body of Saint Mark (image no. 4). And the serene perfection of Raphael’s paradisiacal cupola, a picture of eternity as never-ending destination (5, 6). And yes — some random painting by Serge Poliakoff. Also good, to be sure — but honestly, what happened? When and where, exactly, did the fateful forking in the path of art appear? @pinacotecabrera #pinacotecadibrera #mantegna #andreamantegna #raphael #tintoretto #milan