DOMENICO DUPRÀ, attributed

PORTRAIT OF MARIA FELICITA OF SAVOY AS DIANA

DOMENICO DUPRÀ
Torino 1689 – 1770 Torino

Oil on canvas
63.5 x 53.6 cm / 25 x 21.1 inches, with frame 79.5 x 69.6 cm / 31.3 x 27.4 inches

PROVENANCE
France, private collection

Some paintings refuse to remain what you first believe them to be.
What does it mean, then, to work with works of art?
Is it merely a matter of acquisition and sale — or does it inevitably involve research, doubt, and reconsideration?

When I acquired this portrait, I was convinced that it represented Portrait of Maria Theresa of Savoy, Countess of Artois, as Diana, and I dated it to the 1780s. Like many Turinese portraits of the eighteenth century, it was attributed to the circle of Giovanni Panealbo (Turin, 1742 – 1815) — an attribution which, however, often proves to be a convenient yet reductive cliché when applied to Savoyard painting, a field far richer and more diverse than such simplifications suggest.

Doubts, however, arose almost immediately.

The first striking element was the entirely different painterly technique when compared to Panealbo. While a certain formal and typological similarity could be observed, the execution itself was more refined, more luminous, and more transparent. The pearlescent rendering of the sitter’s skin, the delicacy of the facial modelling, and the vibrant, joyful blue of the drapery all pointed towards a different artistic hand — one closer to a Venetian-French tradition.

A decisive turning point came when the portrait was seen by my friend, the distinguished fashion historian Alexandre Vassiliev. His reaction was immediate and unequivocal: “This is not the 1780s — this is around 1765.” Such a redating fundamentally altered the entire framework. Not only did it exclude an attribution to Panealbo, but it also rendered the identification of the sitter as Maria Theresa of Savoy, Countess of Artois, untenable.

Nevertheless, elements of costume — in particular the distinctive “Spanish” pearl ornaments — clearly indicated that the sitter belonged to a royal household.

In private correspondence, this hypothesis was further supported by Professor Arabella Cifani, who identified the sitter as:
Maria Felicita Vittoria di Savoia (Turin, 1730 – Rome, 1801), fourth daughter of Carlo Emanuele III and Polyxena of Hesse-Rheinfels-Rotenburg.

This clarification, however, only made the question of authorship more complex.

The longer I studied the portrait, the more strongly I became convinced that its authorship should be sought not within the circle of Panealbo, but rather within an earlier Turinese tradition — specifically among the two court portraitists of the Savoy court, Giuseppe and Domenico Duprà.

The closest stylistic affinity appears to be with the work of the elder brother, Domenico Duprà (Turin, 1689 – 1770), a painter whose manner is distinguished by a rare combination of elegance, clarity of form, and refined colour. Formed in Rome under Francesco Trevisani and later active at the Savoy court in Turin, his work reflects a distinctive synthesis of Italian compositional clarity and French courtly refinement, reminiscent of Hyacinthe Rigaud and Jean-Marc Nattier.

Particularly telling in this case are not only typological affinities, but also painterly qualities: the luminous, almost “pearlescent” treatment of flesh, the softness of transitions, and a delicate, almost musical sense of colour. All these elements align far more closely with Duprà’s aesthetic than with the drier and more conventional manner associated with Panealbo.

The biography of Maria Felicita Vittoria of Savoy adds an unexpected layer to the present portrait.

Unlike many dynastic figures of her time, she never married, choosing instead a life of piety and charitable activity within the courtly world. In 1786, she founded in Turin an institution for widows and unmarried noblewomen — a gesture that reflects both her position and her personal disposition.

Seen in this light, the portrait acquires a subtle tension. Represented as Diana — a figure traditionally associated not only with chastity, but also with youthful autonomy and latent readiness for marriage — Maria Felicita appears poised at a moment of possibility.

The image projects serenity, even quiet confidence; yet her later life suggests a different trajectory, one defined not by dynastic alliance, but by devotion and withdrawal.

It is precisely this dissonance between representation and destiny that gives the portrait its particular poignancy.