Three very different churches: Tintoretto's Madonna dell'Orto, the marble-clad Miracoli and the flamboyant I Gesuiti.
Last updated August 14, 2026
In a nutshell: the Madonna dell'Orto is 'the church of Tintoretto' - his canvases fill it and he is buried there - the Miracoli is sheathed in polychrome marble, and I Gesuiti hides a marbled trompe-l'oeil interior and Titian's dark Martyrdom of St Lawrence. Back to the Cannaregio overview or the Ca' d'Oro.
This church can rightly be called 'the church of Tintoretto': the great artist spent his life in the vicinity, he is buried here, and his canvases transfigure the interior with their pathos. It dates originally from the 14th century but was restructured during the 15th, which is why its tripartite brick facade shows elements of transition from Romanesque to Gothic and from Gothic to Renaissance. Inside, on a basilical plan with three naves, starting from the right nave you can admire the St John the Baptist with Sts Peter, Mark, Jerome and Paul by Cima da Conegliano and the mystical Presentation of Mary at the Temple by Tintoretto. On the walls of the presbytery loom three more great canvases by the same author: the Last Judgment, the Adoration of the Golden Calf and Moses Receiving the Tablets of the Law. In the apse, admire Tintoretto's canvases of Fortitude, Justice, Temperance and Courage. Continuing along the left nave you can still admire, by the same artist, the Miracle of St Agnes, while the Madonna and Child is by Giovanni Bellini. The church is reached on lines 41, 42, 51 and 52 at the Madonna dell'Orto stop; it is open on weekdays 10–17 and on holidays 12–17.
The Miracoli church is sheathed in marble both inside and out, in hues so delicate they look almost edible - and no other Venetian church can be viewed from every side. It stands as a rare specimen of pure Renaissance design: Pietro Lombardo completed it in 1489, reusing stone salvaged from the waste heaps of San Marco's own construction site to shelter the weeping Madonna-with-Child image by Nicolò di Pietro. Inside, sit a while and let the polychrome veins of the marble sink in: the ceiling coffers carry Pier Maria Pennacchi's saints and prophets in Venetian dress, and a graceful staircase climbs toward the high altar, where the icon rests. The chancel pillars are carved with playful sea beasts and cherubs, the handiwork of Tullio and Antonio, Pietro's sons. For the classic dome view, step across the bridge to the café-lined square of Santa Maria Nova, with its Montmartre feel, and browse the gloriously crammed Libreria Miracoli for rare Venetian art books, vintage postcards and posters.
The 18th-century I Gesuiti, designed by Domenico Rossi, is the sestiere's most flamboyant church. What looks like damask hanging there, with velvet tassels swagging the pulpit, is in fact solid marble, inlaid and chiselled with stunning skill; even the runner tumbling over the altar stairs is carved from stone. Giuseppe Pozzo designed the bombastic high altar, whose spiralling columns echo Bernini's baldachin in St Peter's. Titian weighs in with an unusually dark Martyrdom of St Lawrence, and the Assumption of the Virgin, from Tintoretto's youth, shimmers with Veronese-like colour. Step into the sacristy before leaving: it holds a fine series of Palma il Giovane paintings, and afterwards enjoy a coffee in the graceful cloister next door. Admission costs €1.
Tucked away opposite I Gesuiti, the Oratorio dei Crociferi is normally locked, but Fondazione Venezia Servizi opens it to those who write a week or more ahead. Inside, every surface glows with Palma's brushwork, laid down between 1583 and 1592: angels and the Virgin crowd the ceiling, while eight enormous wall panels narrate the saga of the Crociferi order, a brotherhood created in the 1100s by Pope Anacletus to tend the sick and pilgrims. Art historians often call the ensemble Palma's reply to Tintoretto's great cycle at San Rocco.