For nearly six decades, the Vatican had an El Greco in its care without fully knowing it.
The small panel, now identified as The Redeemer and dated to about 1590–95, had entered the Holy See’s collection in 1967 as a gift from José María Sánchez de Muniaín Gil, a Spanish official, aesthetics professor, and author, who donated it to Pope Paul VI. For years it hung in the Hall of Ambassadors in the papal apartment at the Apostolic Palace. It was there, quietly and without fanfare, until conservators took a closer look.
As reported by Vittoria Benzine for Artnet, the painting had never been restored or subjected to scientific study during its 59 years in the Vatican. That changed after a routine inspection revealed conservation issues. Restorer Alessandra Zarelli and her colleague Paolo Violini began what seems to have been a standard intervention. Instead, they found a surprise.
Beneath what appeared to be the visible image was another hand entirely.
A later painter, described by the restoration team as an unknown forger, had covered El Greco’s original Christ with an overpainted version. Once those later layers were removed, the earlier work came back into view: a striking bust of Christ gazing upward, unmistakably stronger, subtler, and more alive than the image that had concealed it.
From there, the story became one of patient confirmation. Technical analysis and comparison with other known works supported the attribution. As read in Vittoria Benzine’s Artnet report, the restored painting was matched against other versions of the same subject associated with El Greco, including examples in Prague, San Antonio, and San Sebastián. The evidence pointed to authenticity.
The examination also revealed something even more intimate: traces of the artist’s process. High-resolution imaging uncovered two abandoned compositions beneath The Redeemer, one related to Apparition of the Virgin to Saint Lawrence and another echoing Saint Dominic in Adoration of the Crucifix. In other words, this was not a “hidden” painting. It was a working surface, a place where ideas had been tested, set aside, and transformed.
That gives the rediscovery unusual depth. The panel opens a small window into the discipline and restlessness of a painter who kept revising, searching, and refining.
There are also clues to how the work may once have been used. According to Vatican curator Fabrizio Biferali, four small holes along the top and bottom suggest it may have functioned as a kind of portable altarpiece. The image, then, was likely made for devotion as well as for art.