Marietta Tintoretto, Self-Portrait

She has light blond curly hair—with a reddish hue—styled in a sophisticated manner: it forms a sort of crown around the forehead and is gathered into an elaborate braid at the nape of the neck. 

She wears a dark dress, perhaps originally blue or black, with a square neckline, and her shoulders are covered by a light, transparent veil—according to a fashion that took hold in Venice from 1560 onward, but prevailed for at least two decades. The veil, in reality an impalpable lace, is rendered with great care, even virtuosity: the fine raised brushstrokes on the canvas manage to evoke the material, the almost tactile sensation of its rippling. The dress is demanding and evidently very expensive: the sleeves have a double cuff—black on the outermost layer, white with a diamond-shaped lace edging on the inner one. A golden-colored cord, an amber paternoster, runs around the waist, highlighting her generous hips. Around her neck the woman wears a necklace of pearls, or metal beads, upon which the light plays, making them sparkle. 

In the wide neckline, between the soft breasts—delicately emphasized—a small red spot stands out. Looking more closely, one realizes that it is a very small object, slipped between the dress and the skin. It seems to be a feather, a tiny flower, or perhaps a petal. In her right hand the woman holds an open pouch (apparently of hair or fur), tubular in shape. The index finger and thumb of her left hand toy with something that glints. Perhaps a pearl or a gem—but it is difficult to say, as the color is damaged at that point. The woman does not flatter us, does not invite us; she barely hints at a very slight smile. She cannot be defined as playful or cheerful, but neither sad nor melancholy. Composed, inscrutable, she looks at us.

Even if the woman was a painter, she makes no reference at all to her profession—there are no palettes, easels, or mirrors. She presents herself as wealthy and respectable, a lady. Nevertheless, we cannot ignore that the only certain elements for identifying her point to a mercenary profession. The open pouch alludes to the money that must be placed inside it. The bead between her fingers could be a jewel—and allude to her price. 

The red petal between the breasts follows a convention of courtesans of the time: a signal to inform the client that the lady, during the days of her cycle, was not available.