wrmthorne/National_Gallery_style_classification huggingface dataset:
Insects crawl on and around a spray of creeping thistle and borage flowers, all casually arranged to appear natural. But the creamy white surface is reminiscent of vellum, the prepared animal skin that was used for manuscripts and miniatures, highlighting the artificial nature of this composition.

The specimens are painted from different angles and viewpoints. The large tortoiseshell butterfly, crane fly and elephant hawk moth sitting on the leaves and stem of the creeping thistle are seen from the side, while most of the other insects, placed directly on the ground, are seen from above. This indicates that Jan van Kessel worked from a number of different sources, relying on illustrations in scientific books as well as actually studying insects himself . These inconsistencies, together with the painter’s signature and date on the ground, counter the illusion that these creatures and plants are three-dimensional.

Style: Baroque
We are watching an intimate family moment, apparently unnoticed. Two children are being introduced -- they are the Christ Child and his cousin, Saint John the Baptist. From right to left, Jordaens has painted the Virgin Mary, the two cousins and John's parents, Elizabeth and Zacharias. Compared to his 'portrait-like' The Holy Family and Saint John the Baptist, this painting looks more like a narrative moment. Instead of facing outwards, the figures interact with each other; none of them acknowledges the viewer.

However, the lamb next to John looks directly out at us, while a small bird flutters from its cage towards Christ. The Virgin is seated on a hooded wicker chair, with Christ on her lap; this type of chair, used for protection from drafts, can be found in several other paintings by Jordaens. Christ wears a swaddling cap lovingly decorated with flowers which frame his rosy-cheeked face. A red curtain, pulled back to reveal a column, frames Elizabeth and Zacharias.

This childhood meeting is not mentioned in the Christian Bible. It derives from a widespread apocryphal tradition in Italy and the Low Countries, and was popularised in both writing and images from the Early Renaissance onwards. It prefigures the moment when Christ comes to be baptised by John, as told in the Gospel of Matthew (3: 13--17). According to the Gospel of John (1: 29), John the Baptist greeted Christ by describing him as the ‘Lamb of God’.

The bird in this and other versions of the composition has previously been wrongly described as a goldfinch, a symbol of Christ’s later Passion (his torture and crucifixion). However, the bird in this painting is missing the goldfinch's distinctive red feathers on its head which, according to legend, it acquired when it removed a thorn from Christ's head while he was on the way to Calvary, and was splashed with some of his blood.  The release of the caged bird prefigures the way that Christ’s sacrifice as the 'Lamb of God' will liberate the human soul.

Jordaens painted different versions of this subject, and  The Virgin and Child with Saint John and His Parents (North Carolina Museum of Art, Raleigh) relates most closely to this one. Very likely to be the prototype, the Raleigh version is signed by Jordaens and was probably painted around 1615--16; the London painting is an autograph variant painted about 1620.

Style: Baroque
Saint John the Baptist sits on a rock in a wooded landscape, preaching to a group of people in Oriental dress. According to the Gospel of Luke (3: 1--17), John spent some years living as a hermit in the wilderness, preaching repentance and baptising people in the river Jordan. He was traditionally shown bearded and unkempt, dressed in animal skins and with a cross made of reeds. His followers thought he might be the Messiah, but he told them that he was merely the precursor of Jesus: here he makes this clear by pointing to the slightly ghost-like figure of Jesus in the background.

This small painting is characteristic of Pier Francesco Mola, who specialised in classicising scenes drawn from mythology, the Bible and poetry, set in landscapes inspired by north Italian art. He spent most of his life in Rome, where his father was architect to the Papal Treasury.

Mola painted several variants of this subject -- a later one, of about 1650--55, is in the Museo Nacional Thyssen-Bornemisza, Madrid. His art is a fusion of influences, many of which he may have come into contact with in Rome. The motif of the Baptist pointing to the distant figure of Christ suggests his awareness of a fresco by Domenichino in S. Andrea della Valle as well as a painting of the same subject by Veronese, in the collection of Cardinal Scipione Borghese in Rome in the early seventeenth century, which includes a similar crowd of bystanders in Oriental costumes (now in the Galleria Borghese, Rome).

The most important influence here, however, is that of Guercino. The picture's naturalism, lighting and tightly cropped composition are all characteristics shared by works of Guercino's  including his Dead Christ mourned by Two Angels, while the Baptist's head echoes that of  Saint Thomas in The Incredulity of Saint Thomas. Both works today are also in the Gallery's collection.

Style: Baroque, Academic
This painting was once in the Avogadro family collection and it was suggested that it might represent Gerolamo II Avogadro of Brescia (who died in 1534). He was the father of Conte Faustino Avogadro, who is shown in the full-length portrait by Moretto's pupil, Moroni. However, an Avogadro inventory of 1734 describes this painting as being of a member of the Conforto family, so the man's identity remains uncertain.

The portrait is dated 1526 in Roman numerals on the step below the man’s foot, and it is characteristic of Moretto's early work. The distinctive yellow streaks in the marble can also be seen in his earliest documented painting, the organ shutters originally for the old cathedral in Brescia, now in S. Maria in Valvendra, Lovere, Bergamo.

This is the only full-length portrait by Moretto to have survived. In fact, it seems to be the earliest surviving example in Italy of a life-size, full-length, independent portrait on panel or canvas. Such portraits were unusual in Italy but not in northern Europe. Life-sized, full-length portraits were frequently included as part of fresco decorations in north Italian palaces or villas. Although painted on canvas, this portrait could have formed part of such a decorative scheme.

The man is leaning against the pedestal of a column. Behind him is a low wall with an arched opening revealing a landscape. The greens of the trees have darkened and it is hard to be sure whether the landscape was originally meant to be this yellow. The arch echoes the curve of the man's shoulders and draws our attention to his eyes, which look away from us. It is possible that he was once looking towards a companion portrait.

His Spanish-style black brocade cape and slashed mauve sleeves and breeches are both sober and luxurious and his red cap is typical of Brescia. The city’s sumptuary laws, which controlled the wearing of luxury items, specified that men could only wear these berette made of local felted wool. The enamelled gold cap badge represents Saint Christopher carrying the infant Christ. The image is surrounded by Greek letters which have not been explained, but which may have invoked the protection of the saint. The tight cap of gold thread and silk underneath the man's red cap was designed to be worn beneath a helmet to cushion it, but was fashionable and widely adopted by those without a military life. The glove on his right hand, turned down and apparently ragged at the cuff, is similar to that found in Titian's Man with a Glove of about the same date (Louvre, Paris).

The man’s hand rests on a very early example of a rapier. Just behind and above its hilt is part of the hilt of a dagger, presumably one held in the left hand for parrying when fencing.

Style: High Renaissance
The serious young boy in this portrait turns away from us to gaze into the distance. The artist has signed the picture but he hasn’t named the sitter. Only his age, 11 years old, and the date, 1660, are given. The boy is pale, but the deep brown background, the warm shade and delicate texture of his fur muff and the cloud of feathers in his hat keep the painting from being austere.

The brilliant white of the collar and shirt, which puffs out from his jacket in fashionable style, further enlivens the severe black of his clothes. His clothes are plain but costly and ostentatious. The artist has captured the youthful softness of his skin and allowed an ear to peep out through his long straight hair. Although we don’t meet the boy's gaze, there is the hint of a smile around his mouth and in his eyes.

Jacob van Oost the Elder was one of the leading artists of seventeenth-century Bruges, much in demand for his sensitive portraits. He visited Rome early in his career and was influenced by Caravaggio’s use of chiaroscuro (strongly contrasted light and shade).

Style: Baroque
This young man with flowing hair and a distinctive pout is Philip the Handsome, so-called because of his fair hair and attractive grey eyes. The painting is one wing of a diptych (a panel painting in two parts). The other shows his sister, Margaret of Austria.

Philip was the only surviving son of Maximilian I, the Holy Roman Emperor, and Mary of Burgundy. His mother died in a hunting accident when he was four and he inherited her Netherlandish territories. Through his marriage to Juana, the daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain -- also known as 'Juana the Mad' -- he became king of Castile briefly, and founded the Habsburg dynasty that was to govern Spain for nearly two centuries. On his death in 1506 his wife allegedly refused to allow him to be buried, and travelled everywhere with his embalmed corpse.

Philip's black hat and doublet have been overpainted. The hat seems originally to have been red, was set further back on his head and had a turned-up brim. His robe is of red cloth of gold, trimmed with ermine -- the white winter coat of the stoat, the use of which was confined to royalty. He also wears the collar of the Order of the Golden Fleece, a prestigious chivalric order founded by his great-grandfather Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy, in the 1430s.

The same collar surrounds the shield at the top of the arch, which shows his father's arms impaling those of his mother. Above the shield is the archducal crown. Seventeen smaller shields around him show the arms of his father's possessions in Austria, Slovenia, Switzerland, Italy, Germany and Alsace.

Here, the artist has minimised Philip's prognathism -- an inherited condition where the lower jaw sticks out forwards, the so-called 'Habsburg jaw'. Philip also appears in The Virgin and Child with Saints and Donor.

Style: Gothic, Early Renaissance
Exciting pictures of ships pounded by high waves with a threatening sky overhead were Ludolf Bakhuizen's speciality. He was one of the finest of the late seventeenth-century Dutch marine painters, and his skills in portraying the turbulence and unpredictability of the sea were famous.

The Netherlands was a maritime nation and a large number of Dutch men earned their living at sea. Bakhuizen was concerned with communicating the dangers sailors experienced to the people left on land, who depended on merchant and naval ships for their safety and prosperity.

In this picture, the gale blowing off the sea puts one vessel -- flying an English flag at the stern and the St George's cross on the main mast -- at risk from the high cliffs in the background. Its sails belly out, stretched to the full, straining at the ropes that hold them. If the sailor at the helm steering the vessel isn't strong enough to keep it on course in such waves, it could be hurled against them and broken up like matchsticks.

A fitful streak of sunlight from a break in the clouds turns a white sail a sickly yellow, throwing across it a curved shadow of the mast, adding to the feeling of instability. It picks out the crew; a powerful back hunches forward over the wheel. Others stoop as if to secure a crate about to go over the side. Passengers huddle in the shadows in the stern, seemingly unconcerned -- a reminder that for seventeenth-century Dutch people, travel by sea in all weathers was customary.

In a small rowing boat to the right, one man leans into the oars -- the others seem relaxed in the face of his efforts. Beyond them another small boat scuds among the waves and other boats, one flying English flags, are tossed about on the waves. Away to the left, an English man-of-war (or battleship), cannon at the ready, rides out the gale. It heads away from shore towards the angry red sky on the horizon -- perhaps a subtle reference to the recent wars between England and the Netherlands.

The ominous cliffs were at one time identified as the Kent coast at Deal; this has now been discounted and they are considered to be imaginary. There is no evidence to suggest that Bakhuizen ever came to England, but British ships would have been in and out of Dutch ports and waters, so he would have been familiar with these vessels.

The sea in Bakhuizen's pictures has real depth and weight. The waves are painted with a rhythm and flow that is perhaps partly explained by his early career as a calligrapher writing in the seventeenth-century fashion, with decorative curls and curves to a page of script. Although he pays great attention to details of various vessels, he pays more to the sea itself, and to the atmosphere and emotion it evokes.

Style: Baroque
This view is from the bank of the River Thames, looking across a sprawling meadow towards Eton College on the horizon. Most of Canaletto’s English views overlook the Thames in the heart of London, in the same way that his most engaging Venetian scenes are never far from the Grand Canal. But here he has captured the river's peaceful, meandering journey through the countryside.

A shady glade gives way to a softly lit river bank, with folk enjoying the fine summer’s day -- away from the hustle and bustle of city life, they fish, boat and picnic. There's a family group just in front of us, the smartly dressed man carrying a basket. They may have been brought up river by the boatman emerging over the riverbank and carrying an oar nearby. On the far side of the river, you can just make out groups of people out for a stroll.

The dominant building is the chapel, finished in 1482, and to its right the red-brick buildings of Eton College, a school founded by King Henry VI in 1440. There are a number of inaccuracies in the depiction of these buildings and many of those that surround them, which suggests the artist had little knowledge of the view. He perhaps relied on a sketch made on the spot at an earlier date, or an inaccurate drawing or engraving by someone else.

A finely painted tree frames the scene and leads the eye towards the middle distance, as do the layers of landscape and river bathed in subtle variations of light and shadow. These were well-established features of landscape painting, present in the work of the seventeenth-century Italianate landscapists -- see Claude's Landscape with Narcissus and Echo or Gaspard Dughet's Landscape with Abraham and Issac -- as well as that of contemporary English view painters, like Richard Wilson in his Holt Bridge on the River Dee. Canaletto's scenes overlooking the River Thames in and around London influenced view painters in England in the later eighteenth century, such as Samuel Scott and William Marlow.

Painted in around 1754, this idyllic scene and another work in our collection, Interior of the Rotunda at Ranelagh, are among the last pictures Canaletto made during his time in England; by 1755 he had returned home to Venice. The light and airy atmosphere and the broad, fluid brushstrokes which make up the figures, foliage and still water, are typical of the artist's late style -- look at his Italian views of the late 1750s, for example Piazza San Marco and the Colonnade of the Procuratie Nuove.

We don’t know who commissioned the picture, though the subject would have appealed to any of the school’s affluent former students. This image appeared as the front cover of a volume of The Spectator, a British magazine, produced as an Eton leaving gift in 1847.

Style: Rococo, Neoclassical
The Virgin gently cradles her son. Luis de Morales sensitively observes the instinctive gesture of the newborn baby as he tucks his hand through her red gown searching for milk.  Mother and child lean into each other, their gazes tenderly interlocking.

Morales explores the sense of touch through both the figures' gestures and their fabrics, which range from a soft transparent veil to the heavy folds of the Virgin's blue mantle. His close observation of detail extends to the figures' individually painted eyelashes and hairs.

The Virgin and Child, sculpted by a soft light, emerge from a pitch-dark background. This smoky effect, known as sfumato, recalls Leonardo da Vinci's paintings. The figures' pale skin and elongated features as well as the pronounced folds recall the style of Flemish masters such as Pedro Campaña, a contemporary of Morales who was active in Seville. Living and working in the nearby region of Extremadura, Morales might have travelled to Seville to see his work.

The theme of the nursing Madonna is implied but not explicit. Although there are some examples of Christ being breastfed in Spanish sixteenth-century painting, such as El Greco’s Holy Family at Toledo’s Hospital de Tavera, increasing censorship of nudity led to a decline in these images. The Spanish Inquisition, established in 1478, was especially strict on these matters, which also explains the limited presence of nudes in Spanish paintings up to the early nineteenth century.

Morales painted several versions of this composition, of which four are in the Prado, Madrid. Three are slightly larger and include minor variations in the position of the Virgin’s left hand. The fourth extends down to the Virgin’s knees, revealing the Christ Child’s legs moving impatiently. Other versions of this subject were also painted by Morales's workshop, on which he relied to complete his increasing number of commissions. These versions were painted during the 1560s when Morales was under the patronage of Juan de Ribera (1532--1611), Bishop of Badajoz, for whom he painted several small devotional paintings on the theme of the Virgin Mary and scenes of Christ's Passion. The small format suggests that this panel was intended for private devotion.

Style: High Renaissance
This tiny jewel of a picture was made at a time when landscape painting was beginning to be appreciated as an important genre of its own. But although no longer a poor relation of pictures of great historical events or of stories from the Bible or Greek myths and legend, it was common for landscape painters of Rijckaert's era to include figures from these myths to give their paintings gravitas.

The artist chooses satyrs as his mythical creatures, demigods of the woods and forests. They're half goat and half man, with hooves and shaggy legs, horns and hairy ears. Satyrs were followers of Dionysus, the god of wine, and were fertility symbols, notorious for drunkenness, lust, chasing nymphs and loud partying. The artist shows these rumbustious characters in a quieter moment, returning from their revels. He keeps them no bigger than a bee's wing, so as to give the landscape full scope.

The chief satyr stands on a rock, summoning his brothers home with a blast from a horn. Another stands on a hillock opposite him, apparently chewing on leaves. Three more wade through the stream towards the horn blower, one leaning on a stick, the other two staggering in a wobbly-looking piggyback  -- perhaps it was too good a night out. Their slow and precarious progress hardly disturbs the jaunty, cartoon-like ducks, splashing in a pool.

To reach their den under the high rock, the satyrs must stumble across the waterfall that spurts out from the cliff, giving the picture movement and sparkle. Here, there's a break from tradition. Satyrs in Greek art were depicted as uniformly and noticeably male, with magnified erect penises, but the artist paints a female satyr reclining under the cliff. She has twin babies tucked under one arm, another child standing beside her and a full belly, a miniature but unmistakable symbol of fertility.

The docile goat on the cliff top, chewing on leaves like the satyr below, points up the bestiality of these creatures -- sated for the moment, but gathering strength for the next revels. The figures intrigue us, but a triangle formed by the goat and the three satyrs beneath leads the eye up to the rocks, cliffs and trees. These are likely to have been a large part of the point of his picture, a background to the classical story but still dominant.

Because of its size and because it is painted on wood, the painting may once have been part of a piece of furniture, a chest perhaps. Broad downward brushstrokes give a rough texture to the grey cliff face below the goat, and contrast with the feathery lightness of the countless greens of the rustling leaves. The heavily-laden, end-of-summer trees on the hillside lean over as if they might slip down the steep slope into the water below, adding more movement to the scene, and to the unsteadiness of the satyrs' wild, self-indulgent world.

Style: Baroque
Slender beech trees seem to lean forward to meet the clouds sweeping towards them. The sun has vanished over a distant hill, leaving a cool, limpid light and  the figures and animals close to us almost in silhouette. Yet the light is still strong enough to make reflections in the pool. It filters through the branches of the trees, making a tracery of leaves, some of them turning copper. The silvery glint on the trunks facing away from the last rays of the sun suggest that, away to the left, the moon is about to rise, turning the tree behind them a misty grey.

Although peaceful and still, the painting seems to hold many sounds: the rustle of leaves in a sudden breeze, the jingle of a harness and the swish of hooves in the water, quiet voices and dogs sniffing at the ground. We catch a glimpse of the patience needed to make such a journey. The women sit serenely side saddle while the carriage driver slumps over the reins. One man stares down at his horse as it drinks -- his hand is on his hip, as if he's perhaps a little less patient than others.

To add to the realism of the picture, Salomon van Ruysdael has placed a dog, chin on its paws, patiently waiting as its master adjusts the harness on the white horse. A bunch of dead rabbits hang from the saddle, suggesting that there’s more than one party of people at the pool (one travelling and another hunting) or that the carriage is there simply to carry home anyone too tired to ride after a hunt. The clothes suggest prosperous middle-class people -- they're not the flamboyant costumes of aristocratic riders shown by Philips Wouwerman in pictures such as The Interior of a Stable.

Van Ruysdael seems to have painted an atmosphere as well as a view. He used restrained, muted colours, establishing a mood that, for a seventeenth-century Dutch collector, might evoke memories of twilight on journeys taken into the countryside. Unlike the artist's earlier paintings, such as A River Landscape with Fishermen drawing a Net, there is no underdrawing; he went straight in with the brush, painting fluently and with the assurance of long experience. He used an oak panel -- paint flows more fluidly on this than on canvas, allowing him to depict light and small objects in great detail: the subtle change from pale gold to blue in the sky; the sudden glitter of the tack heads around the wheels and the curved hood of the carriage.

Style: Baroque