It’s best not to think about Raphael’s youth. He’d become one of the biggest artists of the Italian Renaissance by his twenties, the golden boy of the most important patron in Rome by his thirties, and had changed the shape of art for ever by the time he died just before reaching his forties. When I was in my twenties I got rejected from a job in a meat-packing factory. From the start, in this big, bold show of his art, design and architectural prowess, you can see that the Renaissance master knew who he was. His 1502 image of Saint Sebastian, made in central Italy when he was bloody 19, is terrifyingly self-assured. It’s beautifully composed and gorgeously painted, the fabrics are precise, the skin is luminescent. He was already so good. That didn’t go unnoticed. The commissions started coming thick and fast for young Raph: churchmen, bankers and merchants all wanted a slice. There are huge gleaming altarpieces on display, ultra-detailed biblical miniatures, intense portraits, a whole room of Madonnas and some of the ugliest babies in all of art. Raphael was everywhere. A whole room of madonnas and some of the ugliest babies in all of art. It wasn’t all pure God-given natural talent, he worked at it, studying his elders. There’s a little rough ink copy of Leonardo’s ‘Mona Lisa’, and next to it hangs Raphael’s ‘La Muta’, his breathtaking portrait of an incredibly fed-up brown-eyed woman. It’s an unfussy but hugely detailed painting, intimate but aloof, properly jawdropping.