wrmthorne/National_Gallery_style_classification huggingface dataset:
This elegant young man's identity is revealed on the strip of paper or parchment curled around the pole in the upper left corner. Bartolomeo Veneto used a suspended roll of paper like this as a device to identify the sitter in several of his paintings. The inscription is now difficult to read in places, but appears to say: Lodovico Martinengo at the age of _ years. Painted by Bartolomeo Veneto 16 June 1530.

When the picture was first acquired by the National Gallery, the age was read as 21. Lodovico may have been from the branch of the Martinengo family living in Brescia, as there is a seventeenth-century document in the family's house which says they owned a portrait by Bartolomeo Veneto.

Lodovico wears a shirt of fine white linen embroidered with patterns in red cross-stitch. His short scarlet coat is bordered with three strips of crinkled, slashed satin. One of his arms is under his coat and one emerges from it, holding his leather glove. The sleeves, which are not attached to the coat, are of plum-coloured silk, sewn with a triple line of gold thread round the cuff. They are embroidered with gold and decorated with slashes revealing cloth of gold beneath. His small red cap is decorated with ornaments of gold with blue enamel and an exotic and expensive white ostrich feather. His codpiece, of yellow and black satin bordered with scarlet, protrudes from his black doublet and his gloved hand rests on the hilt of his sword. He is richly dressed and must have been a very wealthy young man.

Although it has been cut down a little at the sides, the painting was always narrow -- this was a format favoured by Bartolomeo. Cleaning has revealed two grey objects with curved outlines cut by the left edge of the painting at about the level of Lodovico's chin. It is no longer possible to tell what they are, but when the portrait was first painted Lodovico was looking at them; they were probably included to give us a sense of Lodovico's interests or character. A sense of intimacy is created when the subject of a portrait directly meets the viewer's gaze; by turning Lodovico's eyes away from ours, Bartolomeo Veneto has made him seem reserved and psychologically distant.

Lodovico stands in front of a long piece of dark green velvet, which is suspended from a series of very fine threads, creating dips and hollows in the fabric. It is beautifully observed and painted, as is the way in which the edge of the fabric curls and creases behind Lodovico's head. Bartolomeo Veneto seems to have had a particular appreciation for and understanding of the sensuous qualities of fabric, and he frequently used textiles as backdrops for his portraits.

Style: High Renaissance
This small parlour painting is one of a pair; the other is Two Lovers at Table. The theme of that painting is clear: it would have been considered an amusing play on the theme of women making fools of lustful men. But there are potentially two contrasting ways of reading the scene depicted here. Either it plays on the same theme as its pair, or it provides a counter view and the woman here is being portrayed as victim rather than temptress.

How can this painting be interpreted in such radically different ways? There are some elements which are clear. A game of cards was long associated with a metaphor for the pursuit of vice. In card games between men and women, the ace of hearts -- with which she appears to have won the trick here -- often appears because it is the most powerful card in the suit of hearts and indicates an amorous encounter. This theme is underlined by the onlooker's pipe -- a common phallic symbol -- and the glowing tobacco, which was considered an aphrodisiac.

But one interpretation suggests that it is the woman who has tempted the man into a game of cards, and the moment depicted here is when she trumps his trick and reaches out for his money. The duck and the basket of eggs -- which form a still-life composition neatly mirroring the one in the companion painting -- suggests that he was on the way to, or just possibly from, market. He could be seen as the dupe losing his hard-earned cash, and the smile on the face of the man in the centre would therefore be one of mockery at the man’s gullibility.

It may be, however, that the deceit is working the other way. Perhaps the amorous opponent has allowed her to win in the hope of gaining her favour, or he is subtly rewarding her in advance for the favours he hopes she will confer on him. The smile on the face of the observer is therefore a knowing smirk. The woman laying claim to her winnings could therefore also be seen as an ironic touch: if she accedes to his desire then she will also be losing her virtue. Such an interpretation is reinforced by the dead duck and the eggs, which may have been interpreted as an allusion to sex. Certainly, as he 'loses' the game of cards, he is lifting the lid of the jug in his left hand, and open-necked jugs or flasks like this were associated with female genitalia; another features in the companion painting.

If we accept the latter interpretation then one of these two paintings illustrates the deceit of men, the other the deceit of women. If we see the woman as the trickster in both, then they become a warning to men against the manipulations of women. Of course, it may be that part of the fun of this painting is that the artist deliberately left the meanings unresolved, so that it could be interpreted in either way.

Style: Baroque
The Three Kings -- Caspar, Melchior and Balthasar -- present gifts to the Christ Child in the ruins of a grand building overgrown with ivy and other weeds. The Virgin Mary sits on the edge of the manger, while her husband Saint Joseph comes down a staircase just visible to the left. A crowd of curious onlookers, some wearing turbans, peers through the arch on the right, and in the field behind Caspar's head we see the ox and the donkey who shared the stable with Christ at the Nativity. Beyond, everyday life goes on in the suburbs of Bethlehem, the walls of which rise in the background.

This painting was most likely part of a polyptych showing the life of Christ painted by Gerard David in Antwerp after 1515; the Lamentation  probably comes from the same altarpiece, perhaps from the wings. The letters A and W on the purse of Balthasar's belt perhaps stand for alpha and omega, the first and last letters of the Greek alphabet and one of Christ's titles.

David frequently reused figures and compositions -- both his own and other artists' -- and we can connect this work to other pictures attributed to him and his workshop. The composition is in some ways a development of his Adoration of about 1500 (Musée Royaux des Beaux-Arts, Brussels) but may also owe something to Jean Gossart's great Adoration of the Kings. David often set his scenes in collapsing and overgrown buildings opening onto a landscape. Here, the crumbling wall at the back and parts of the palace are very close to those in a Nativity of about 1500--10 (Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York). The houses behind Caspar and Melchior are so similar to those in two Nativities by David (Museum of Fine Arts, Budapest and Cleveland Museum of Art) that they must be taken from the same drawing.

Technical analysis can tell us much about how the painting was made. The underdrawing of this panel is freely executed -- unlike that of the Lamentation -- and was probably done by the artist himself rather than assistants. He also adapted things as he worked. There are many slight changes in the main figures, and the ox, donkey and Saint Joseph were added during the course of painting.

On the second brick from the left in the lower left corner we can make out a word: OUVVATER. This word has caused a lot of confusion, and has been understood as a kind of signature, as Oudewater near Gouda was David's birthplace. But the letters are not original -- they were scratched into the paint possibly around 1800.

Style: High Renaissance
Clouds billow up over a wild, untamed valley. The far side is covered in bushes and scrub. A bare, chalky cliff face catches the sunlight and tips down into a ravine that leads away down a path hidden by the undergrowth. A man strolls there with a dog, both of them portrayed in silhouette by little more than a thin flick of the brush.

On the near side of the valley, a peasant trudges up the steep side of the hill. His plough grinds into the stony earth, bald in places and infertile. His oxen strain at the weight, encouraged by the whip in the hand of a boy wearing rags with an old hat on the back of his head. One beast turns his eyes directly to us.

But there is a rough grandeur in the picture. The oxen are fine animals, well muscled and rich in colour. The peasant himself is strong, windswept and sunburnt. His massive arms labour at the primitive plough; his shirt is shabby, but gleams white and clean in the sun. He leans back in a huge effort to shove the plough forward over the last lip of the hillside, digging in hard to have some effect on the unyielding soil. He is a forerunner of the many images of 'the heroic peasant' to come from Jean François Millet, Rosa Bonheur, Van Gogh and many other artists concerned with presenting the world as it was, rather than making the countryside an idealised Italianate myth.

Nicolaes Berchem may have been one of the several Dutch artists who travelled to Italy in the early seventeenth century to paint landscapes in the softer Italian light and take inspiration from the Italian artists of the past who were considered the embodiment of high art. But the light in Berchem's picture is cooler than that of Rome or Naples, and the towering clouds have a sea-blown feel, more like a scene from a landscape closer to a wilder sea than the Mediterranean. Yet the landscape isn't the familiar flat Dutch coastal view either. These are imaginary hills, or hills taken from a sketchbook that might have been made in Italy or possibly from a print in Berchem's collection.

A small, atmospheric picture such as this would have been treasured in a collection decorating the panelled walls of a Dutch burgher's house. The scene would have been admired for itself, but also hints at the fortitude of the Dutch peasants who worked the land of the newly founded Dutch Republic. At the time that Berchem painted his picture, these same peasants were -- with monumental effort and grinding labour -- creating new stretches of land from the sea through the digging of ditches and dykes.

Style: Baroque
Gondolas glide across the water, passing fishing boats which direct our gaze towards the mouth of the Cannaregio Canal, Venice's largest waterway after the Grand Canal. The Ponte delle Guglie (‘bridge of the obelisks’), constructed in 1580 with an elegant balustrade and a pair of obelisks at each end, spans the water.

We can just make out the tiny silhouettes of people crossing over the bridge, while others emerge into the sunlight along the waterfront. Beyond this is an area known as the ghetto, built up high because of the shortage of land. This is where, from the sixteenth century, the Jewish population was forced by decree to live.

Canaletto altered the view to make a more dramatic composition: the facade of the Palazzo Querini detti Papozze, on the far right, is at a sharper angle here than in reality, the bridge is closer to us and the Cannaregio more open, making it easier to see the buildings on both sides. On the left, surrounded by a walled garden, is the church of San Geremia, which was rebuilt in 1753--60; its thirteenth-century campanile (bell tower) remains one of the oldest in Venice. Just behind is the Palazzo Labia with its imposing grey stone facade. Canaletto's scenes from the late 1730s and early 1740s tend to have a cooler, more wintry light, which we can see here -- especially in the wispy pink clouds.

A drawing in the Royal Collection at Windsor, dated 1734, has the same view as this painting, though the boats in the foreground are different. It was likely a detailed preliminary study made by Canaletto in his studio, rather than a quick sketch done on the spot (similarly, none of Canaletto's pictures would have been painted in situ; all were created from drawings). This proved to be a popular composition, and Canaletto and his studio pupils painted numerous versions during the late 1720s and mid-1730s.

This painting and A view of San Pietro in Castello were given to the National Gallery in 1879 as a pair, but cleaning revealed that they are not pendants: they are quite different in style and tonality.

Style: Baroque, Rococo
Saint Peter Martyr was a Dominican friar from Verona. He was assassinated in 1252: ambushed by a group of heretics as he travelled to Milan, he was stabbed in the heart and the head (Bellini depicted the moment of his murder in The Assassination of Peter Martyr).

This picture was once thought to be a 'portrait' of the saint. The man wears a black and white Dominican habit, and the unique identifying attributes that relate to the saint's murder are included: we can see the hilt of a dagger which has been plunged into his heart, and a cleaver lodged in his head. He also holds a palm branch, a symbol of martyrdom, which often features in depictions of saints who were killed for their faith.

But Bellini's original image was a simple portrait of a Dominican friar -- X-ray imagery shows that the attributes were added over the original paint 100 years after the picture was made. Chemical analysis of the paint used for the dagger reveals that it contains lead tin-yellow, a pigment only introduced in Italy after 1600. The dagger itself was also unknown in the fifteenth century when Bellini made this picture; it very closely resembles a type of dagger fashionable in about 1580--1620. The X-ray imagery also reveals that the friar originally held a scroll in his right hand, rather than a palm; in fact, the way his hand is shown clasping the palm seems an unnatural way to hold a branch, and makes more sense if we imagine a tube-shaped roll of paper.

When this painting was purchased it was regarded as an important work by Giovanni Bellini. Over time this was doubted, and even the signature on the piece of paper -- similar to that used in his portrait of Leonardo Loredan -- was thought to be fake. Infrared reflectography shows the drawing beneath the paint surface, and that the signature was part of the original design: it was drawn on to the panel before painting began. It is difficult to see the picture's true quality as the painted surface is quite damaged. The underdrawing, however, shows a very delicate and detailed drawing of the friar's facial features, which matches Bellini's sophisticated technique towards the end of his career.

We do not know why the painting was altered and transformed into an image of the famous Dominican saint. He was very popular in Venice in the sixteenth century: Titian's image of his assassination painted in the late 1520s (and destroyed by fire in the nineteenth century) was considered one of his finest works. The image may have been altered in order to make it more appealing to a potential buyer.

Style: Early Renaissance
An angel is absorbed in playing the vielle, a type of fiddle. Eyes half closed, head bent to one side, he contemplates its sound. His long robes ruffle up around him as though dancing to the tune he plays. This angel is one of a pair -- his companion plays a lute. Both panels were part of a large, elaborate sculpted wooden altarpiece that included a large sculpture of the Virgin Mary and Leonardo da Vinci's painting, now known as the 'Virgin of the Rocks'.

The angels were probably designed as graceful musical accompaniments to frame a sculpture of the Virgin which stood above Leonardo's painting. Later on, in the late sixteenth century, when the chapel that the altarpiece had been made for was destroyed, the altarpiece was moved and re-designed: some parts of it were sold, while others were moved around. The angels ended up on either side of Leonardo's painting. Later still, Leonardo's painting was removed altogether and the angels switched position again. At some point during all this moving around, the angels were extended, cut down and placed within grey arches, painted to resemble niches for sculpture. The stark simplicity and rough painting of the niche doesn't complement the elegance and precision of the angel's features, skin and drapery.

The names of four artists appear in the original contract for the altarpiece, including the half-brothers Ambrogio and Evangelista de Predis, who were both working in Milan at around this time. This angel has sometimes been thought to be by Evangelista, but we now think it was painted after his death. It's possible that Ambrogio enlisted his friend Francesco Napoletano to paint it instead. They had worked together in the past and so Ambrogio would have known his work well.

Whoever the artist was, they obviously admired Leonardo and tried to copy his style here. The angel's face is shaped using light, which makes it seem three-dimensional. Some areas, like the eye sockets, are almost completely in shadow, giving the sense that they are sunken. But the fleshy chin and cheeks, and the areas that catch the light -- the nose and forehead -- are painted in bright, almost white, paint. If you compare this to the way that Leonardo shaped faces in The Virgin of the Rocks you can see how similar the technique is. The angel's face, hair and the way in which he bends his head are so similar to Leonardo's image of Saint John the Evangelist, painted for the fresco of the Last Supper in Milan in the mid to late 1490s, that it might even be based on it.

Style: Early Renaissance, High Renaissance
A small fishing boat tosses on a choppy sea close to the shore, its prow lifted, its crew energetically poling their vessel away from the clinging shingle. High puffy clouds soar and spiral in a bright sky, the surf below running fast on to the beach and ebbing to leave wet sand behind.

One of the crew leans down over the stern of the boat to do a last-minute bit of business with two men almost up to their hips in the water. The white of a smock and the lowered sail catch the sunlight -- and the attention of a tall young man strolling on the beach. In his smart clothes, with his stick in his hand, his coat on his arm and blowing in the breeze, he looks a little out of place beside the windswept fishermen.

Perhaps the young man waits for the woman clutching her enormous hat as she bargains with someone in the group on the left. Almost in silhouette in a dark shadow, a beam of sunlight glints on the silk of her sleeve, her collar and her black bodice. The woman she talks to is in working clothes, stocky and strong-looking in heavy boots planted firmly in the sand under a short, tattered skirt. She hitches up her basket  -- probably full of fish for sale fresh from the sea. The beach may be a place for some to promenade, but for others it's a place of work, and hard work at that.

For yet others, it's a place for play. Dressed almost androgynously in their baggy trousers -- just one little white bonnet under a hat suggests a girl -- barefoot children by the small boat seem to squabble over a prize pebble or a shell, watched by an older boy in a pink jacket. Beside the group, a rusting anchor stands out against the waves. It rests on a beam, its rope snaking along the sand in the shadows.

Far out at sea almost on the misty horizon, with a single, fine stroke of the brush, Bakuizen paints a distant white sail. Once a calligrapher, he paints the small, white-topped waves with the same feeling for arcs and coils as he might have had for decorative, elegant writing. They roll in to the shore in scumbled curves of white over the deeper blues and greys that give his sea real depth and wetness.

A far cry from the limpid, almost luminous calm seas of Jan van de Cappelle -- look at A Coast Scene, with a Small Dutch Vessel landing Passengers -- in this picture, painted at the beginning of his career, Bakhuizen hints at the direction his painting will take: towards the huge, turbulent, terrifying seas of his later work in which he shows war ships and other vessels bucking through huge waves towards high cliffs that can endanger them, like An English Vessel and a Man-of-war in a Rough Sea off a Coast with Tall Cliffs.

Style: Baroque
This painting has been darkened by varnish, making the woods in the foreground so murky and the distant landscape so misty that the reflection created by trees in the water seems startlingly bright. The light catching the terrified stag and hind running from the hounds seems silvery -- almost like moonlight, in spite of the blue sky. The two huntsmen following on horseback blow their horns in an identical position, making them seem stiff and puppet-like. Their groom follows them, hardly visible in the shadows of the forest.

Jan de Lagoor was a close follower of Jacob van Ruisdael, but the dark varnish and wear on the picture hide any indication of the drama and atmosphere of van Ruisdael's paintings, for example A Pool surrounded by Trees, and Two Sportsmen coursing a Hare and A Landscape with a Ruined Castle and a Church.

Style: Baroque
This elegant young man is dressed in an expensive black coat lined with lynx fur and a fine linen shirt embroidered in white around the neckline with delicate scrolling patterns. He wears a soft black hat and a long gold chain, and has a gold signet ring on his finger. It is not possible to make out the emblem on the ring, which might have given us a clue to his identity. The costume has been dated to about 1518.

The portrait is strongly lit from the top left, throwing the right side of the young man’s face into shadow. On the lit side, the jaw and above the upper lip appear to be shaded with dark stubble. The paint, especially in the flesh tones, has suffered some cracking and damage, and the uneven colouring of the skin, particularly on the neck, may be the result of this. The young man’s hair has also lost a lot of its original definition, making it now appear somewhat flat. His body and face are angled three-quarters to the left against a plain green background, but he looks directly at us.

He holds what appears at first glance to be a black and gold silk tassel made up of three balls. The meaning or purpose of the tassel is unclear. The black balls may continue within and behind the young man’s hand, as there are two further dark circular shapes which may be additional balls, or may perhaps represent shadows. It is possible that the linked balls are a rosary to count out the man’s prayers, although the beads on rosaries are usually much smaller than these.

Although the portrait is damaged in places, we can still appreciate the high quality of the painting. The lynx fur is suggested by very fine directional brushstrokes which capture the varying textures and characteristics of the fur in different parts of the pelt, with the longer, paler belly fur fanning out at the edges of the collar. It is interesting to compare the technique of painting the fur here to that of the lynx fur collar in Titian’s Portrait of Girolamo Fracastoro. In Titian’s painting the soft fur is suggested by broad directional strokes and the dark spots by dragged blots of paint, whereas in this portrait every hair is meticulously represented by an individual mark of the brush. This minute attention to naturalistic detail is derived from Northern European portraiture. The way in which the light touches the pleats of the shirt and the links of the gold chain is also particularly beautifully observed and minutely depicted.

We do not know for certain who painted this portrait. In the past it has been attributed unconvincingly to  Raphael, an unknown Milanese artist and Bartolomeo Veneto.

Style: High Renaissance