We don't know how deep his voice was and we can only guess how tall he was, but in his day, he was a rockstar. I think he swaggered.
Look at him. By the time he was in his late twenties he was an acknowledged master of painting, with money rolling in from wealthy patrons and reknown that reached all over, he was advantageously married to a prominent woman, and his students paid him a small fortune to study at his feet.
Let's imagine that to go with his fluffy red curls and piercing blue eyes he had a deep booming voice that melted the ladies and commanded attention before he entered the room.
And when he did enter? He was theater, larger than life. He dressed in furs and velvets and hats with gold thread, maybe not just to pose for a self-portrait, perhaps to be perceived as the successful artist he was. I call it "increasing your legend" and I think he did it best.
He was a man fully aware of his gift, his skills, his mastery, his power. He mesmerized women and held students in his sway.
He was larger than life, his abilities were gigantic, limitless, supernatural, and he knew it.
He didn't need to simply walk into a room, he could swagger and everyone in the room would fall quiet.
The Master is here.
Fall on your knees, bitches.