wrmthorne/National_Gallery_style_classification huggingface dataset:
The scene shows the Annunciation, when the Archangel Gabriel told the Virgin Mary that she would conceive a son, Jesus Christ, through the Holy Ghost. Gabriel has just flown into the Virgin's room, interrupting her reading of the scriptures; her book is on the carved wooden lectern behind her. This is decorated with the Latin words Ave Gratia, an abbreviation of Ave gratia plena -- the first words that Gabriel spoke to Mary, which mean, 'Hail, she who is full of grace' (Luke 1: 28).

The archangel holds a lily, a traditional symbol of the Virgin's purity, and points upwards to the golden rays which are directed towards Mary. These rays originally emanated from a dove, a symbol of the Holy Ghost. However, the picture was cut down before it entered our collection, removing the dove as well as part of the distant landscape visible through the open door. The upper corners were probably added at this stage, transforming the painting into a rectangle; originally, the diagonal upper edges would have met at an angle, making a pointed or gabled picture, or alternatively the picture may have been semi-circular. Pictures of these shapes usually formed the upper part of an altarpiece, or, may have been placed over a doorway, as was Lippi's Annunciation.

Giannicola di Paolo, like fellow artist Perugino, was from the Umbrian town of Perugia. Vasari described him as a pupil of Perugino but it is possible he may simply have collaborated with him on occasion. His early paintings, like this one, show the impact of Perugino's style: here, Giannicola has copied Perugino's designs for the figures of the Virgin and Gabriel. Gabriel is identical to the archangel in Perugino's Annunciation dated 1489 (Santa Maria Nuova, Fano); the figure of the Virgin is a direct copy of Perugino's Virgin in the Albani Torlonia Altarpiece, dated 1491 (Museo di Villa Albani, Rome).

Technical analysis using infrared reflectography makes traces of dotted outlines visible in the underdrawing showing that Giannicola used a technique called pouncing -- where the outlines of a drawing on paper are pricked with holes which are then dusted with charcoal to trace the image onto the panel. These simple outlines were not much altered or embellished after the transfer. This is significant -- it means that Giannicola was sticking to the designs very rigidly, without much of his own creative intervention. The alteration in colour scheme suggests that he was working directly from drawings, rather than the paintings themselves. So whether or not he was trained by Perugino, he must have worked in his studio at some point: he clearly had access to Perugino's original drawings, which he scaled up and used as the basis for his composition.

Style: Gothic, Early Renaissance
The young man in this portrait has been identified as Bartolomeo Bianchini, a nobleman and humanist scholar from Bologna. He is portrayed against an imaginary landscape of jagged rocks and grassy plains, and we appear to have interrupted him reading a letter.

The text of the letter is written in a neat script that shows through the paper but cannot be read by us. Envelopes were not used for letters at this time and the name of the recipient was written on the centre of the back of the paper, which would have remained visible when the letter was folded. Bartolomeo Bianchini's name is written in brown ink on the central part of the paper, which would have been the outside. Bianchini was a friend of Francia and an admirer of his work. He commissioned him to paint a Holy Family, which is now in the Gemäldegalerie, Berlin.

We don't know of any other earlier use of a letter as a means of naming the sitter in an Italian portrait. However it is seen in Netherlandish portraiture, for example in the portrait of Marco Barbarigo made by a follower of Jan van Eyck in the 1430s. Usually the writing identifies the artist and attests to his skill rather than identifies the sitter. The strong realism of Netherlandish portraits, made possible by the use of oil paint, was an important influence on artists working in northern Italy and Venice at this time.

Bianchini's hand appears to project over the stone ledge or parapet into our space. The ledge creates the impression that we are looking through a window into a real space, and the hand reaching out into our space enhances this illusion. This use of the ledge in portraiture can be traced back at least as far as Jan van Eyck's portrait inscribed 'Leal Souvenir' and it is common to many Netherlandish portraits, particularly those by Memling, some of which were known in Italy.

The central fold of the letter seems to project beyond the front plane of the picture, breaking the boundary between the picture and reality. The letter is like the pieces of paper also with creases we see apparently stuck to the front of the ledge in other portraits, such as that of Christ Blessing by Antonello da Messina painted in Venice 30 years earlier. These are painted to create the illusion of being real paper stuck on the painting to trick the viewer and show off the artist's skill.

In its format, composition and setting, Francia's portrait seems to be based on one by Francesco del  Cossa now in the Thyssen-Bornemisza Museum, Madrid. In Francia's portrait, the gentle curves of the grassy hills echo Bianchini's sloping shoulders, plump chin, rounded cap and collar. The very slender trees are similar to ones by Perugino, whose style influenced Francia.

The lighting from the right in this portrait is unusual, indicating that it might once have been paired with a companion picture  lit from the left -- perhaps a portrait of the friend who wrote the letter.

Style: Early Renaissance
This painting -- small, but charming and detailed -- was made late in Karel Dujardin’s life, when he was living in Amsterdam. It seems to show nostalgia for the hills in the Campagna, the countryside around Rome.

Dujardin’s animals are alive and realistic. They’re softly lit, the sheep almost glowing in the evening sun; their solid, rounded forms are echoed in the puffy white clouds overhead. The flesh under the wool appears plump and heavy, and the skilled painting of the wool itself makes its curly texture almost tactile.

The standing goat is watchful, its tail probably flicking to keep off flies, its ears alert. The other goats almost disappear into the background of shade and dark foliage; one, horns resplendent and mouth wide open, is perhaps bleating, perhaps chewing. In the distance, a flock of sheep is scattered over the hillside. This tranquil rural scene is typical of most of Dujardin’s work, and contrasts strongly with The Conversion of Saint Paul, one of his turbulent, narrative paintings.

The light is soft, but not as mellow as the skies of Berchem and other Italianate painters. Dujardin’s skies retain a sharpness of tone -- a clear, cool blue more associated with the northern skies of the Netherlands. The romanticised view of the landscape offered by the Italianate artists contrasted with the more down-to-earth views of Jan van Goyen (look at A Windmill by a River), and Dujardin seems to bridge the gap between them.

Paintings of landscape and animals were extremely popular in the seventeenth-century Netherlands. For city dwellers, they were a reminder of a quieter, more stable way of life they perhaps saw as idyllic, and a reminder that part of the prosperity of their nation came from the countryside.

Dujardin had originally made the picture as an etching some 18 years before he painted it. In the seventeenth century etchings were frequently made from a picture for a less prosperous clientele than could afford the original, so his reversing the process in this way was unusual.

Style: Baroque
This is one of five paintings intended to hang together, each of which denotes one of the five senses -- a common theme for painting in the Low Countries in the seventeenth century. In each of these paintings Gonzales Coques has used a traditional activity to represent the relevant sense.

Here Touch is depicted as a man with his sleeve rolled back letting blood from his arm, a procedure which was believed to help cure or prevent some medical conditions. Blood was probably associated with the sense of touch because, like feeling, it permeates the whole body. By contrast, the receptors for the other four senses are located only on the head.

This may also be a real portrait. We don’t know who it is, but as three of the other paintings in the series are artists, he may be one too. It was probably designed as the central image of the five, since the sitter faces forwards; among the others two turn to the left, two to the right.

Style: Baroque
Portraits by Daubigny are quite rare, as he was primarily a landscape painter who was closely associated with the Barbizon group. He and Daumier, who was an artist, printmaker and caricaturist, had been friends since meeting in Paris in the 1840s. This portrait may have been painted between 1867 and 1868 when Daumier, then approaching his sixties, was staying with Daubigny in his new house at Auvers-sur-Oise -- for which Daumier painted Don Quixote and the Dead Mule (Musée d’Orsay, Paris).

The portrait has been rapidly and thinly painted, especially the background. Emerging from the surrounding darkness, the face, seemingly preoccupied with thought, is painted more thickly and broadly with emphatic brushstrokes. These can also be seen in the scribbled strokes of white that form the collar and which spiral down the coat front. This technique, including the use of dark outlining strokes, particularly around the eyes and mouth, recalls Daumier’s own painting style.

Style: Barbizon
It is night-time and the tall Gothic windows of the chapel -- perhaps in an aristocratic family home -- are dark. A young girl kneels before an altar on which two tall candles in silver candlesticks have been lit. The air is still, for the flames burn steady and upright. Her hands are touched in prayer on a large open Bible, but we have interrupted her devotions and she turns to look at us.

Above the prayer table is a small altarpiece, but it is not possible to make out its subject. The inscription in a Gothic script above the image is the first part of the Lord's Prayer: 'Our Father who art in heaven hallowed be thy name thy kingdom come thy will be done.'

This portrait by the Scottish artist Sir David Wilkie is a small painting but remarkably rich in colour and deft in its painterly technique. The red velvet of the girl's dress, the deep saturated colours and the scumbled brushwork of her white sleeves and collar are reminiscent of a Dutch old master painting. The portrait's solemn manner is very different to the genre scenes in the style of the seventeenth-century Flemish painter Teniers for which Wilkie is better known.

The portrait is believed to be of Lady Augusta Phipps, the 12-year-old daughter of the 1st Earl Mulgrave. Wilkie captures with great accuracy and delicacy the face of a young girl poised between childhood and adulthood. The portrait has added poignancy because it was painted in 1813, the year Lady Augusta died. It may have been intended as a memorial to her.

Wilkie's connection with the 1st Earl Mulgrave dates from 1806, when he and Sir George Beaumont visited Wilkie's London lodgings and both commissioned paintings from him. Sir George Beaumont, who was instrumental in the foundation of the National Gallery, became the painter's lifelong friend.

The portrait was recorded in an oil sketch -- Display of Eight Paintings -- that the artist sent to his brother, Captain Wilkie, who was an army officer in India. In 1872 it was put up for sale by a relative of the 1st Earl Mulgrave. It was then thought lost until it appeared in an auction in New York in 2014, where it was recognised by a London art dealer. It was purchased by the National Gallery thanks to a generous legacy from Marcia Lay, who had been an art teacher in a Birmingham girls' school. It is the second work by a Scottish painter to be acquired by the National Gallery; the first was 'The Archers' by Raeburn.

Style: Romantic, Regency
The Dutch artist Matthijs Maris studied at the Hague Drawing Academy and at the Antwerp Academy. His brothers, Jacob and Willem, were also artists.

In 1869 Matthijs moved to Paris, where Jacob was living. Jacob returned to Holland in 1871, but Matthijs remained another six years, renting a room in Montmartre, an area particularly favoured by artists. This small picture is one of several he painted of the Montmartre Quarry on the northern edge of Paris where the city gave way to countryside . The quarry was also painted in 1886 by Van Gogh, who likewise included the windmills in the background -- a feature that perhaps appealed to both Dutchmen.

Matthijs felt great loyalty to France. He joined the National Guard when the Franco-Prussian War broke out in 1870, and in 1871 he fought with the Communards. Recalling the art of Daumier, Matthijs’s identification with the city’s working people is evident here. The earthy colours and textures of the paint match the pit in which the men load their carts.

From 1877 Matthijs lived in London, where he died in 1917.

Style: Realist
The sun glows on the rump of a grey horse galloping into battle, ridden by a young aristocrat. To the right, a riderless horse escapes the carnage, its tossing head standing out against the turmoil of figures, human and animal. Two tall trees that have so far survived the skirmish pierce the sky like spears. Smoke billows, adding to the sense of the smell of such a scene.

This is an imaginary battle in an imaginary place. Hendrick Verschuring, although Dutch, had lived in Italy for some time. The architecture of the distant village is Italian, as is the warm sky that looks down on the bloodshed below, where swords flash and rifle shots rend the air.

Style: Baroque
Martin Colnaghi (1821--1908) was a picture dealer and collector with a keen interest in old master paintings, especially Dutch and Flemish pictures. He is portrayed in his outdoor clothes, sitting on a buttoned red leather seat in front of a large gilt-framed landscape oil painting; he has removed his top hat and one glove but not his coat, suggesting that he is not at home. Perhaps he is visiting the National Gallery.

Colnaghi was a considerable benefactor to the Gallery, leaving it five paintings and the sum of £75,000 in his will. The funds were used to buy 13 paintings, including works by Cezanne and Delacroix.

One of four known portraits of Colnaghi, this picture was exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1889. It was donated to the Gallery by Colnaghi's widow, Amy, after his death in 1908.

Style: Realist, Victorian
This is the only surviving example of a work in which we can be sure that Hals collaborated with another painter. It is signed by his Haarlem colleague Claes van Heussen, who rendered the market stall laden with fruit and vegetables. Hals painted the young woman holding a pair of scales. Caught in the moment as she reaches for something, she playfully catches our eye. Van Heussen’s delicate paint application stands in stark contrast to Hals’s expressive brushwork.

Style: Baroque
This captivating pair of view paintings -- Piazza San Marco and Piazza San Marco and the Colonnade of the Procuratie -- depict the Piazza San Marco, home to some of Venice's most famous landmarks. It was the principal destination of every visitor to the city during Canaletto's lifetime, and remains hugely popular today.

Canaletto painted these works shortly after his return to Venice from England, where he had lived and worked between 1746 and 1755. Because of their small scale and upright format, they are somewhat unusual when compared to his earlier panoramic views, like The Basin of San Marco on Ascension Day, or his expansive scenes of everyday life, such as Venice: The Upper Reaches of the Grand Canal with San Simeone Piccolo. Canaletto was no less innovative in his choice of composition. Rather than give a view of the Grand Canal or the lagoon that surrounds Venice, which feature prominently in most of his paintings, he experimented with viewpoints taken from within an architectural structure -- for example, an archway within a colonnade.

His mature phase prompted certain stylistic changes: he moved towards sombre colouring and darker tonality, and he tended to paint small canvases. This appealed to Venetian collectors and foreign tourists, as smaller paintings would have been more affordable and easier to transport. Unlike many of his Venetian views, of which multiple versions and copies were made by him and his pupils, there are no replicas of either scene -- the compositions are unique.

Canaletto's view paintings found their way into collections throughout Europe as travellers returned home with these souvenirs of the Grand Tour. We know very little about the early history of these two paintings, but they remained together as a pair in the remaining decades of the eighteenth century and throughout the nineteenth century. In 1910 they were among a sizeable picture collection offered to the National Gallery as part of the Salting Bequest, which included works by other eighteenth-century Venetian view painters, such as Bellotto's Venice: The Grand Canal facing the Santa Croce and a number of Guardi capricci scenes.

Style: Neoclassical, Rococo
This picture, painted in fresco (directly onto wet plaster), was part of a series of eight which decorated the walls of the palace belonging to Pandolfo Petrucci, rule of Siena. He commissioned the frescoes, three of which survive in our collection, to celebrate the marriage of his son to the niece of Pope Pius III.

This crowded and colourful picture tells the story of how Love -- the naked youth with multi-coloured wings -- is chased, captured and finally bound by Chastity, symbolised by a virtuous woman dressed in white. She is Laura, the hero of The Triumph of Chastity, a poem by the fourteenth-century Italian poet Petrarch. For Petrarch, Laura was the model of female beauty and virtue; she exemplified the power of Chastity to conquer the wild lust of erotic love. Chastity was essential within marriage -- the cornerstone of Renaissance society -- which explains why this story was included in the cycle of frescoes. The fresco is dominated by blue and gold, the colours of the Petrucci coat of arms.

The action takes place in a hilly landscape just outside a fortified town. On the far left, Love is pursued by a group of women whose speed is echoed in the draperies of their classical-style dresses, which blow in the breeze behind them. Two of them have caught him; one grabs him at the waist while the other tackles him at the knee. In the foreground they deliver him to Laura, the woman in the white dress with plaited hair, who ties him up in thick ropes. Love kneels, now helpless, craning his neck to get a better view of his captor. Penelope (who features in one of the frescoes) and Lucretia, famously faithful women of ancient Greek literature and Roman history respectively, break his bow and arrow and pluck the feathers from his wings, preventing him from causing further harm. A green banner decorated with an ermine -- a symbol of moral purity on account of its pure white coat -- flutters above them. Two Roman soldiers -- one of whom may be Scipio, mentioned in Petrarch’s text -- look on as they work. Finally, on the right, Love -- bound, wings now bare -- is paraded in a chariot driven by Chastity herself; a band of women follow behind.

The figures' dramatic gestures are strengthened by Signorelli's skill in life drawing and his accurate depiction of human anatomy. This is especially evident in the naked figure of Love, whose muscular chest and abdomen are well-defined, but even the women's legs, waists and shoulders are articulated, rather than hidden, by their bulky draperies. Signorelli signed the unfurled scroll beneath Love's bent knee; 'Coritius' means 'from the town of Cortona', where the artist was born.

Style: High Renaissance
Willem van der Vliet has placed his sitter, Suitbertus Purmerent, in a heavy chair against a plain dark background, with heavy books on the table; one is held slightly open by the weight of a large crucifix. There's the suggestion of a smile in Purmerent's eyes and around his mouth (almost hidden under the luxuriant beard and moustache). The crucifix suggests he is a Catholic and his long black gown and the biretta, the black hat in his right hand, suggest that he is a priest.

The identification is confirmed by another portrait of him by the artist’s nephew, Hendrik Cornelisz. van der Vliet (now in the Bagijnhof, Delft). Willem's portrait was probably painted to mark Purmerent’s appointment as archpriest of Delfland in February 1631. The Dutch Republic was a Protestant country, which meant that only Protestants could hold positions of power, but the Catholic faith was tolerated as long as it was practiced in private and places of worship preferably largely hidden from view.

Style: Caravaggist
A rutted road leads into a wood, winds round to the right and over a rise to disappear. It doesn't reappear, but may lead away among distant trees and beyond them to a cottage, or it may wind again to the left towards the sunshine.  Similar scenes of the Dutch countryside -- designed to please busy city dwellers wanting a moment of tranquillity in the home or a reminder of pleasant days out among nature -- appear in many of Jacob van Ruisdael's early paintings. But this one seems a little different.

A lone tree quite often features in van Ruisdael's landscapes, but seldom quite as prominently and close up as the one in this small painting. It's an oak tree -- in many of his pictures since they're common in Holland -- but he seems to have treated it as a specimen rather than part of a larger scene. He has paid great attention to detail: almost every leaf seems to have been shown in colours varying from deepest green to autumnal copper and bronze. The dark blue of the jacket and the warm yellow of the hat pick out the man taking a rest by the roadside. But these colours were carefully chosen -- when mixed, they achieve some of the darker greens of the foliage. The man is picked out but still blends in with his surroundings, not disturbing the eye.

A closer look reveals that perhaps all isn't well with the tree. Threading through the foliage are many bare, crooked branches and twigs. A fallen branch stands at its foot. There's a second, almost indistinguishable, trunk directly behind it -- perhaps the closer tree is almost at the end of its life, and the mass of foliage standing out against the clouded sky belongs to the second. So this doesn't become simply a portrait of a tree, rather than a landscape, van Ruisdael has crowded shrubs and saplings on to the left-hand side of the road as background. Unusually, he has included a flowering shrub to break the wall of green, to bring in light and allow a peep through the leaves at the woods beyond.

All this is perhaps not unusual -- there are aspects of this composition in many of van Ruisdael's early works. But X-ray images show that the picture once looked very different. The trees beyond the two small figures climbing up the rise, the cottage with its sunlit thatch and the distant blue hill -- all of these were late additions. Why van Ruisdael made the changes, we don't know. But without them, the work would present a very different mood. With no sun tipping the leaves of the distant trees the picture would be much darker and more sombre, and the oak tree against the sky would be almost overpowering -- something far removed from a comforting reminder of a rustic scene.

Style: Baroque