Leonardo da Vinci didn't finish much. That’s the running joke in art history circles, though it’s a bit of a painful one. He was a chronic procrastinator, a man so distracted by the flight patterns of birds or the way water swirls around a rock that he’d often leave his wealthy patrons hanging for decades. But the Madonna of the Yarnwinder is a different kind of headache altogether. It isn't just one painting; it’s a composition that exists in multiple versions, two of which are so good that scholars have spent the last century arguing over which brushstrokes belong to the master and which belong to his talented, if slightly derivative, students.
You’ve probably seen the image. A young Mary sits with a baby Jesus who is looking—almost obsessively—at a wooden yarnwinder. It’s a domestic scene that feels cozy until you realize the yarnwinder is shaped exactly like a crucifix. It's heavy. It’s dark. It's Leonardo at his most symbolic.
The Two Madonnas: Buccleuch vs. Lansdowne
When people talk about the Madonna of the Yarnwinder, they’re usually talking about one of two versions: the "Buccleuch" or the "Lansdowne."
The Buccleuch version is currently on loan to the National Gallery of Scotland. It’s the one with the more dramatic backstory. In 2003, two guys dressed as tourists walked into Drumlanrig Castle, overpowered a guide, and literally hopped out a window with the painting. It was gone for four years. When it was finally recovered in a Glasgow law office in 2007, the art world breathed a collective sigh of relief. This version is widely considered the "prime" version, or at least the one where Leonardo’s hand is most visible.
Then there’s the Lansdowne Madonna. It lives in a private collection in the U.S. and has a bit of a different "vibe." The landscape is rockier, more reminiscent of the jagged, primordial backgrounds Leonardo loved (think Mona Lisa or Virgin of the Rocks). For years, the Lansdowne was the favorite, but recent technical analysis—specifically infrared reflectography—has shifted the momentum toward the Buccleuch.
Why does it matter? Because in the Renaissance, "original" was a fluid concept. Leonardo ran a workshop. He’d sketch the underdrawing, paint the "important" bits like the faces or the hands, and then let an apprentice like Boltraffio or d'Oggiono fill in the sky or the dirt. Honestly, trying to untangle who painted what is like trying to figure out which songwriter wrote which line in a pop hit. It's a collaborative mess.
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What the Yarnwinder Actually Means
The yarnwinder isn't just a prop. In the 1500s, spinning yarn was the ultimate symbol of domestic virtue. It’s what "good" women did. But Leonardo is never that simple. The Christ child isn't playing with it; he’s gripping it. He’s staring at the crossbar with a look of intense, almost haunting realization.
Basically, the painting is a "foreshadowing" device.
Mary looks like she’s trying to pull him away, or maybe she’s just resigned to his fate. Her hand is raised in a gesture of protection—or perhaps hesitation. It’s that classic Leonardo "sfumato" effect, where the edges of the figures blur into the atmosphere, making their emotions feel as shifty and uncertain as the weather.
Martin Kemp, one of the world's leading Leonardo experts, has pointed out that the painting was likely commissioned by Florimond Robertet, the secretary to King Louis XII of France. Robertet wanted something small, something for private devotion. He didn't want a massive altar piece; he wanted something he could look at in his study and feel a mix of religious awe and intellectual stimulation. Leonardo delivered, but in typical fashion, he probably delivered late.
The Science That Changed Everything
We can’t just trust our eyes anymore. Art historians now use X-rays and infrared scans to look "under" the paint. What they found in the Madonna of the Yarnwinder was wild.
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Underneath the Buccleuch version, there are "pentimenti"—changes of heart. Leonardo originally drew the baby looking elsewhere. There was a different background. These changes are the "smoking gun" for authenticity. An apprentice copying a finished painting doesn't make mistakes or change the composition halfway through; they just copy what’s in front of them. The fact that the Buccleuch painting shows a mind at work, shifting ideas on the fly, is the strongest evidence we have that Leonardo was the one holding the charcoal.
- The Landscape: In the Buccleuch version, the background is a watery, misty valley.
- The Rocks: The Lansdowne version features much more aggressive, volcanic-looking formations.
- The Underdrawing: The Buccleuch underdrawing is incredibly detailed, showing Leonardo’s typical "hatching" style.
- The Condition: Both paintings have suffered over the years, with the Lansdowne having been transferred from wood panel to canvas, which is always a risky, damaging process.
You have to wonder if Leonardo ever intended for these to be "perfect" works. He was obsessed with the idea of moto—movement. Not just physical movement, but the movement of the mind. The way the child twists his body toward the yarnwinder is a masterpiece of anatomy. It’s a "contrapposto" pose that looks natural but is actually incredibly difficult to pull off without the figure looking like a pretzel.
Why We Are Still Obsessed
Maybe it’s the mystery. Or maybe it’s the fact that Leonardo’s work feels so modern. The Madonna of the Yarnwinder handles themes of destiny and maternal grief in a way that isn't sappy. It’s cold. It’s calculated.
There's also the "Salvator Mundi" effect. After that painting sold for $450 million, everyone started looking at these "workshop" Leonardos with dollar signs in their eyes. If a painting can be proved to be 100% by the master, its value jumps from "expensive" to "priceless."
But honestly, the obsession should be about the skill. Look at the feet of the Christ child. Leonardo understood the fat pads of a toddler's foot better than anyone. He knew how light filtered through skin. Whether he painted every square inch or just the "good parts," the DNA of his genius is all over the composition.
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How to See the Art for Yourself
If you want to actually understand the Madonna of the Yarnwinder, you can't just look at a JPEG on your phone. You need to see the scale. It's surprisingly small—only about 19 by 14 inches. It was meant to be an intimate experience, something you’d hold or stand very close to.
If you're in the UK, the National Gallery of Scotland in Edinburgh is the place to be. Seeing the Buccleuch version in person, you can see the tiny cracks in the paint (craquelure) and the depth of the blues in Mary’s cloak. It’s a reminder that these aren't just "icons"; they are physical objects made of wood, gesso, oil, and pigment that have survived wars, thefts, and five centuries of dust.
Practical Steps for Art Enthusiasts
- Check the provenance: If you’re ever at an auction or a museum, look at the "provenance" or the history of ownership. For the Yarnwinder, the trail leads back to 16th-century France, which is a gold standard for authenticity.
- Study the sfumato: Look at the corners of the mouths and eyes. If the lines are sharp, it’s probably a student. If they seem to disappear into smoke, you’re looking at Leonardo’s signature technique.
- Compare the versions: Don't take a critic's word for it. Look at side-by-side photos of the Buccleuch and Lansdowne versions. Notice the difference in the mountains. Which one feels more "Leonardo" to you? The master was obsessed with geology; the more accurate the rocks, the more likely he was involved.
- Read the technical bulletins: Organizations like the National Gallery (London) publish incredibly detailed reports on their restoration projects. These are better than any textbook for understanding how these paintings were actually built.
The Madonna of the Yarnwinder remains a puzzle with several missing pieces. We might never know exactly which brushstroke belonged to whom, or if there was a "perfect" third version that was lost to time. But that’s the draw. Leonardo didn't just give us art; he gave us questions that keep us looking 500 years later.
To truly appreciate this work, start by researching the "Circle of Leonardo" to see how his students—like Andrea Salai or Francesco Melzi—interpreted his sketches. Understanding the difference between a master's "hand" and his "influence" is the first step in becoming a true connoisseur of the High Renaissance. Explore the digital archives of the National Gallery of Scotland for high-resolution scans of the Buccleuch underdrawings to see the hidden ghost of Leonardo’s initial vision.