wrmthorne/National_Gallery_style_classification huggingface dataset:
Propriety, order and temperance were important virtues to the Dutch in the seventeenth century. This was a predominantly Calvinist society which admired hard, diligent work and disapproved of waste and wantonness. But they also liked a good laugh. The great appeal of Jan Steen to his clients was not only the brilliance of his painting but that he could make moralising entertaining.

This is one of his larger and best-known paintings, and is a typical scene of chaos and disorder underpinned with a moral message. The entertainment lies in trying to work out what is going on and the root cause of the upset, and in spotting visual puns and the disasters which are about to happen.

Some of his jokes are immediately clear to us today. We can see that this is a household where the children and servants are taking over. They are feeding their lunch to the cat, wine to a parrot and roses to the pig, while a small boy reaches into the purse of the sleeping woman. Meanwhile, in the garden, a man is apparently seducing a young woman; she sits on his lap with a large glass of wine and rubs his foot with hers. Her dress reveals more than is modest, and the half-peeled lemon which sits on the table may be an allusion to an undressing which is to come.

From a Dutch point of view, it is the sleeping woman who is key to understanding more about this topsy-turvy world. She is the mother of the household and responsible for the well-being of her family. Intoxicated with tobacco from the pipe which is falling from her hand and the wine which her daughter (or maybe it is her maid) is now feeding to the parrot, she has neglected her duties and her children are running riot. It is perhaps her husband who is caught in a clinch in the garden. The church under a stormy sky in the distance may or may not be intended to cast his transgression in a moral light, but the impending fate of the mother of the household is made clear by the contents of the basket above her head. It holds the birch with which Dutch criminals were beaten, and the crutch and wooden clapper which were used by beggars in the street.

But there is so much more here than a one-dimensional moral message. Steen also loved puns and visual jokes. The roses being fed to a pig, for example, are an echo of an old Dutch proverb, the equivalent of our 'casting pearls before swine'. And the still life on the step is an inversion of a popular genre. It comprises some typical elements found in such paintings -- the bread, cheese, fruit and jug -- but tips them onto the ground.

But while we decode what’s going on in this wonderfully chaotic scene, we shouldn't neglect the sheer beauty of the painting. Steen wasn’t only a great joker, he was also a brilliant painter. He can suggest the sheen of silk or texture of linen with rapid brushwork, but he can change the pace too. Look at textures of the weave on the basket, the feathers on the parrot's head, the dented pewter tankard or the fur trim on the neglectful mother’s jacket.

Style: Baroque
This is a very early work by Bernardo Bellotto, the talented nephew of the influential Venetian artist Canaletto. It was painted in around 1738 when Bellotto was only about 16 years old and working in his uncle’s studio in Venice. By this time Bellotto was creating his own versions of some of Canaletto's most popular views.

While many of Bellotto's pictures were presumably sold under Canaletto's name, his distinctive artistic personality can be seen even at this early stage. He prepared this composition in a drawing (Hessisches Landesmuseum, Darmstadt), itself based on a design by Canaletto (Royal Collection, Windsor Castle). Canaletto's pupils usually worked under his supervision and from drawings made by him, but Bellotto often sought to 'improve' these compositions. While Bellotto has followed Canaletto's scene quite closely here -- the beautiful passenger barge, or burchiello, being towed along the Grand Canal on the far left appears in both -- he altered the figures and boats in the foreground. The plain pinkish facade of the church of Santa Croce can be seen to the right.

While a pupil would usually imitate the manner of the master, Bellotto excelled as a painter in Canaletto's studio and this picture shows the subtle differences between their styles. Here, the young artist tends towards a more silvery light and cooler palette, which was to remain a characteristic of his style for the rest of his career -- compare this work to The Grand Canal with San Piccolo Simeone, which was painted around the same time. Bellotto has created a richly textured surface by applying the paint broadly and thickly, particularly in the rippling water and clouds in the lower sky, composed of horizontal lines. Despite this, the picture entered the National Gallery's collection as a Canaletto in 1910. It was considered to be the work of a follower for much of the twentieth century, demonstrating how little Bellotto was judged as a distinct artistic personality until later in the century.

Within a few decades of painting this work, Bellotto would become one of the most sought-after view painters in eighteenth-century Europe. His monumental views of northern Europe, like The Fortress of Königstein from the North, surpassed even his uncle's most ambitious Venetian pictures in their scope and innovation -- though Bellotto did also continue to work under Canaletto's name in northern Europe.

The right half of this composition appears in another work in the collection, Venice: Upper reaches of The Grand Canal facing Santa Croce, by a follower of Canaletto.

Style: Baroque, Rococo
Christ, holding a white banner with a red cross -- the symbol of the Resurrection -- over his shoulder reaches out towards a crowd of figures who are squeezed into the right-hand spandrel. On the opposite spandrel three devils are being crushed under the fallen doors of hell, which Christ has just trampled down. This is the Descent into Limbo (also known as the Harrowing of Hell) when, between the Crucifixion and Resurrection, Christ was thought to have gone down into hell and brought out the souls of the righteous. They are led by an old man and woman, Adam and Eve, and guided by Saint John the Baptist.

The scene takes place immediately above the central panel of a large polyptych painted in the 1420s by the Florentine artist Giovanni dal Ponte. It originally sat on the high altar of the church of the Camaldolese nunnery of San Giovanni Evangelista at Pratovecchio in Tuscany. Several panels from this altarpiece are now in our collection.

Beyond being generally appropriate for an altarpiece, the Descent into Limbo has no special relevance for the iconography of this work. Like many medieval artists, Giovanni dal Ponte reused designs and compositions in different contexts, and this scene appears almost identically in an altarpiece by him (Galleria dell'Accademia, Florence) -- even down to the detail of the soldier immediately behind John the Baptist.

Style: Gothic, Early Renaissance
A saint holding a lily and a book gazes upwards, seemingly untroubled by the curved knife which splits his skull and the dagger in his shoulder. His hair is tonsured, or shaved, to show that he was a member of a religious order, and he wears the black and white uniform of the Dominicans. This is Peter Martyr, the second Dominican saint and their first martyr.

The figure once formed part of the right lower tier of a large polyptych (multi-panelled altarpiece) painted between about 1456 and 1461 by Giorgio Schiavone for the funerary chapel of the wealthy Roberti family in the church of San Nicolò in Padua. Saint Peter Martyr’s panel must have been placed on the right side of the altarpiece alongside Saint John the Baptist: they both look up in the same direction, towards where The Pietà would have appeared.

Peter was born in Verona in 1206 to parents who were heretics – Christians who disagreed with the doctrine of the Catholic Church. He joined the Dominican Order in the 1220s and became one of its most fervent preachers. In 1251 the Pope made him head of the Inquisition for Milan and Como, an office he carried out with such enthusiasm that the heretics of northern Italy hired two assassins to kill him.

On 6 April 1251 Peter was walking from Como to Milan when he met one of these assassins, Carino da Balsamo, outside a wood. Carino struck Peter on the head with his falcastro (a curving dagger with a long handle, like the one in the painting). Peter clung on to life, reciting the Creed – an early statement of Christian faith still widely used in Christian liturgy – and is said to have written its opening words in his own blood, as shown in The Assassination of Saint Peter Martyr by Giovanni Bellini. To kill him, Carino stabbed Peter through the heart with a dagger. Peter's body was carried to Milan; miracles ensued and he was swiftly declared a saint. Carino, his murderer, repented and became a friar himself.

The lily is the symbol of Peter's lifelong chastity, while the book represents his writings and his scholarly attitude to his faith. The Dominicans believed in intellectual rigour and the pursuit of truth. Dominican friars took religious vows but were not confined to a monastery. They lived in towns and cities, as the Order had been founded to provide educated preachers and teachers for a growing urban population. The Dominicans were especially important in fifteenth-century Padua as they were closely involved in its university, one of the oldest in Italy.

Peter's robes stand out against the burnished gold background which has been regilded. His bare toes peep out from under the folds of his robes, and one juts out over the edge of the marble parapet – this links the sacred space in which the saint stands with the earthly space of the Christian viewers. He is painted in a very similar way to  Saint Peter Martyr by Carlo Crivelli – you can see pulsing veins in the foreheads of both figures.

Style: Gothic, Early Renaissance
The Virgin Mary looks up from her book at us and Christ, sitting on her lap, gestures to himself -- his future Passion is the subject of her text. The young Saint John the Baptist, wearing his traditional rough camel skin, clasps his hands in prayer.

Saint Paul stands to the left holding his usual attribute of the sword by which he was martyred. Saint Catherine of Siena, dressed in white as a Dominican tertiary, holds a lily as a symbol of her purity. This composition was evidently a popular design as it was repeated -- at least two versions are known which include Saint Sebastian instead of Saint Paul, and there are also other variants.

The Brescianino brothers, Andrea and Raffaello, worked together on the Baptism of Christ for Siena Cathedral. The National Gallery’s painting has been attributed to either or both of them, but is closely related to pictures thought to be by Andrea.

Style: High Renaissance
The monumental figure in this painting is Elijah, an Old Testament prophet who lived in the northern kingdom of Israel in the ninth century BC. Having predicted that a terrible drought would ravage the land, Elijah was instructed by God to hide on the banks of the stream Cherith. Here, ravens delivered bread and meat to him every morning and evening. The over life-size form of Elijah dominates the scene, filling almost the entire picture space. This has the effect of bringing him closer to the viewer, and his massive form towers over us.

While Elijah’s story embodies piety, Guercino’s representation is profoundly human. The prophet sits awkwardly, his right leg jutting out from beneath his cloak and his body twisting as he turns his aged face expectantly toward the ravens. He clasps his cloak out in front of him, preparing to catch the food brought by the birds -- they represent both physical and spiritual nourishment as Elijah places his faith in God’s commands. A bowl lies empty at the prophet's feet and his clothing is torn at the shoulder, reminding us of his hunger and hardship in the wilderness. His isolation is underlined by the inclusion of two small figures walking away in the distance.

Guercino has explored textures and contrasted lighting in this painting. The still, reflective surface of the Cherith stream is visible on the left. Its water runs alongside the cold stone on which Elijah rests his weathered feet, and laps close to the paper scroll lower right. Elijah's fluffy grey beard and cloth lined with animal hair contrast with the heavy swathes of drapery cascading over his lap. The form of Elijah’s body can be sensed beneath the fabric – although we cannot see his left leg or torso, we have a good idea of how his body is angled and posed.

The strong directional light used to cut across the form and the subdued colour palette are both typical of Guercino's early painting style. Although he was largely self-taught, Guercino’s style was inspired by the artistic centres of Ferrara and Bologna, close to his native Cento. He was particularly influenced by the prominent Bolognese artist Ludovico Carracci. Ludovico advocated the close study of nature, as demonstrated in Guercino’s treatment of Elijah in this painting. The inclusion of the landscape in the background of this picture is typically Bolognese.

This picture is one of a number of works Guercino made for the papal legate of Ferrara, Cardinal Jacopo Serra (1570--1623), an early and enthusiastic patron of the artist. It was painted in 1620, before Guercino travelled to Rome. By 1655 the painting had been acquired by the powerful Barberini family in Rome and, remarkably, it still retains its Barberini frame.

Style: Baroque, Academic
This is the first in Hogarth's series of six paintings titled Marriage A-la-Mode which satirise the upper classes. They were painted to be engraved and then sold after the engravings were finished.

The Earl of Squander is receiving guests in the bedroom of his town house; his canopied bed with a coronet on top is in the corner. He is negotiating the marriage of his son to the daughter of a rich Alderman of the City of London. In the centre of the scene is the marriage settlement -- a large parchment document in the Alderman's hands. The Alderman's family will acquire an aristocratic title through the marriage; the Earl will get his hands on ready cash, which has already been emptied out from the money bags onto the table.

The unfinished house seen through the window -- of a preposterous design that breaks all architectural rules -- suggests that the Earl’s resources are strained. However, he seems to suggest that money is nothing compared to what he has to offer: he points to his family tree going back to William the Conqueror with one hand while resting the other on his heart, which pumps with noble blood. The Earl's eagerness to display the coronet that decorates his bed, crutches, footstool and his picture frames suggests that his family is not really of the old aristocracy. He is self-interested and vain and rests his gouty foot on the footstool.

Meanwhile the bride’s father peers through his spectacles at the contract. He is dressed respectably but not fashionably and is clearly ill at ease. He wears his gold chain of office as an Alderman of the City of London and a sword, which sticks out from between his legs in an ungainly fashion. He is presumably well aware of what it will cost him to marry his daughter to the Earl's son. An inkstand, quill pen, sealing wax and a candle are on the table ready for signing and sealing the settlement.

The Earl's son, Viscount Squanderfield, and the Alderman's daughter have no interest in each other or the marriage. The foppish and foolish Viscount regards himself in the mirror and takes a pinch of snuff while his bride shuttles her ring up and down her veil. Her father's lawyer, Silvertongue, sharpens his quill and whispers in her ear. A foxhound and bitch are at the bride and groom's feet, chained together round the neck, anticipating the bonds of matrimony that will soon tie the the couple together. Gloomy old master paintings line the walls, while a screaming Medusa hanging over the bride gives vent to the rage she can't express.

The large black spot on the groom's neck indicates that he is suffering from the venereal disease syphilis. Hogarth based his figure of the Viscount on John Wootton's illustration to one of Gay's Fables, The Monkey who had seen the World. The Viscount's fashionable French dress suggests that he too has travelled, probably around Europe on the Grand Tour. He may have picked up syphilis, known as the French disease, while abroad.

Style: Baroque, Rococo, Georgian
Saint Jerome, a fourth-century Christian scholar and hermit, is seated in a nocturnal landscape, absorbed in the book that lies open on his lap. Jerome is celebrated for producing what is considered to be the first Latin translation of the Bible, known as the Vulgate. He spent four years living as a hermit in the desert accompanied only by a lion -- according to popular tradition, he pulled a thorn from the animal's paw and it became his devoted companion. It lies quietly at his feet in this painting, light catching the glint of its eyes and nose.

A number of Jerome's conventional attributes appear alongside him: a crucifix with a skull placed at its base; books and scrolls of paper; and a small rock. The crucifix was the focus of Jerome's meditations on the Passion, while the skull symbolises the transience of human life (and is another reference to Christ's sacrifice). The books and scrolls are a nod to the influence of his writings, which underpinned much of the Catholic Church, and the rock to his practice of beating his breast in penitence. Depictions of penitent saints were believed to encourage devotion and faith in viewers, and in this painting Crespi has focused our attention on Jerome's meditative pose and scholarly contemplation. His body is bathed in a cool silvery light that makes him stand out against the darkened landscape.

Saint Jerome was an extremely popular subject in Italian painting. He was sometimes shown in his study or wearing cardinal's robes, as in Saint Jerome in his Study by Antonello da Messina, but was often painted as a penitent in the desert, half-naked and lost in contemplation, as in Saint Jerome reading in a Landscape by Giovanni Bellini. The saint's popularity only grew following the Council of Trent’s declaration of the Vulgate as the official translation of the Bible. His image became a staple of grand picture galleries -- Guido Reni's closely cropped depiction, for example, probably hung in the Barberini Collection.

This picture probably dates to around 1715, shortly after Crespi's return to his home town of Bologna from Florence. Employed by the Grand Prince Ferdinand de' Medici and Cardinal Pietro Ottoboni, he painted religious subjects, portraits and still life, but was best known for his scenes of daily life, such as Peasants with Donkeys and Musicians.

Style: Baroque, Academic, Rococo
This lively portrait was once attributed to David, as the plain background and clean outline of the elegantly posed boy particularly recall portraits by him. Although neither the modelling of the face nor the handling of the paint matches that of David himself, the portrait may have been painted by his assistant Georges Rouget, who joined David's studio in 1797 when still in his teens and became the artist's favourite pupil. Or it may be by Baron Gros, one of David’s most important followers. The boy’s clothing dates the portrait to around the first 15 years of the nineteenth century. However, his hairstyle allows us to date it more precisely.

In the first decade of the nineteenth century in France both men’s and women’s hairdressing was influenced by Roman sculpture. For men who no longer wore wigs this meant cutting the hair short at the sides and brushing forward the longer hair on top. Short hair was adopted by both men and women and was known as coiffure à la Titus after Titus Junius Brutus. Titus was elder son of Lucius Junius Brutus, the founder of the Roman Republic in 509 BC. Following his involvement in the unsuccessful Tarquinian conspiracy, both Titus and his younger brother Tiberius were condemned to death by their father -- the episode was the subject of David’s The Lictors Bring Home the Sons of Brutus of 1784 (Louvre, Paris). Titus had also been a character in Voltaire’s play Brutus (1730), which was revived in 1790. The following year the play was staged again at the Théâtre de la République, which had been set up by the theatrical manager and actor François-Joseph Talma. A republican and friend of David (and later Napoleon's favourite actor), Talma was an advocate of historical costume. His appearance on stage as Titus, dressed in a Roman toga and with his hair cut short in the manner of a Roman bust, sparked an immediate craze in Paris for short hair.

Early in the first decade of the nineteenth century men styled à la Titus often wore a formal straight-cut fringe -- the style adopted and made fashionable by Napoleon for some years -- but by the middle years of the decade fringes became ragged. In this portrait, the boy’s hair is styled and brushed forward but has been carefully cut in tufts to create a more natural and casual effect, which dates the portrait to around 1805. Following the restoration of the French monarchy in 1815, styling the hair à la Titus, which had Republican associations, was replaced by a revival of more elaborate hairstyles, which evoked pre-Revolutionary times.

Style: Neoclassical
This picture is a fragment of a larger painting which would have decorated the spandrel of an arch. There would have been another figure in a complementary pose on the other side of the arch. The painting consists of five separate pieces of canvas, which were probably originally glued to a wooden support as they show no evidence of stitching. It is likely that the two pieces of canvas with the architectural elements were painted by a specialist and then joined to the piece with the figure when the picture was put in place.

The picture is broadly painted -- the separate brushstrokes of lead white are visible in the shirt at the top of the figure's right arm -- but it is now obscured by a thick and darkened varnish. The paint surface is badly creased perhaps from when the canvas was peeled off the earlier wooden support. The blue pigment has faded to a dull grey. The features of the man's face are difficult to see in the shadowed areas where the paint has been rubbed and has become translucent, and his beard is now barely visible.

The proportions of the figure, the projecting knee and the scale and breadth of painting style suggest that the picture was intended to be placed very high up where small details would not have be seen. It may have formed part of the decoration of a church, possibly over an arch in the aisle at the entrance to a chapel.

The unidentified figure looks down and clasps a round shaft, which could have been part of a large key, an attribute of Saint Peter, or perhaps a pilgrim's staff as carried by Saint James or Saint Roch, or maybe even a banner. It is difficult to tell which, as the canvas with the other end has been cut off. He may be a prophet or ancestor of Christ, from an Old Testament story prefiguring the New Testament subject matter in the chapel below.

The painting is likely to be from Venice or the Veneto where, due to the damp conditions, murals were more usually painted on canvas rather than directly onto the wall plaster (a technique known as fresco). However, this painting is unusual because here the architectural elements have also been painted rather than carved in stone or modelled and moulded in stucco. It is likely that the painting dates from the last decades of the sixteenth century or later when extensive canvas decorations in the naves of Venetian churches became popular.

The painting was given to the National Gallery in 1855 by Pietro Vallati, a painter and art dealer from Rome, as a model for teaching how to paint on a grand scale. He believed it to be by Pordenone, but the brushwork has more in common with contemporaries of Palma Giovane, and this type of spandrel figure was also painted by followers of Veronese.

Style: High Renaissance