wrmthorne/National_Gallery_style_classification huggingface dataset:
A ruinous chapel-like building stands in a rocky landscape. The Virgin Mary sits on the remains of a wall and presents the Christ Child to the Three Kings, who, together with their retinue, are gathered around her to present their gifts. The Gospel of Matthew tells the story of the Adoration of the Kings, but does not account for the figures who appear in the background here: Saints Mary Magdalene, Bernard of Clairvaux, Jerome and Augustine, as well as the Archangel Raphael and Tobias.

It is likely that the painting was made for the wealthy Florentine merchant Francesco del Pugliese -- one of his testaments refers explicitly to a painting of an Adoration of the Kings by Filippino Lippi. The close relationship between Filippino and members of the Pugliese family is well documented, and the landscape of this painting is not unlike that of Sommaia, a village in the mountainous area north-west of Florence where the Pugliese had a family chapel. Francesco del Pugliese was an ardent follower of the Dominican preacher Girolamo Savonarola, whose radical sermons captivated large audiences in Renaissance Florence. Savonarola advocated that Florentines return to the roots of the Christian life. Perhaps the saints in the background of this painting, who all lived as hermits and followed Christ's example, were inserted at the request of the patron.

Filippino's interpretation of this biblical story may also have been influenced by a group of paintings associated with the workshops of the Florentine painters Fra Angelico and Gherardo Starnina. Known as Thebaids, these paintings are characterised by similarly prominent landscapes with scenes from the lives of hermit saints. Filippino took their central elements and applied them to an Adoration, a contrast to the richly decorated versions of the scene popular in Renaissance Florence.

This painting is documented in a Medici collection in Florence in the seventeenth century, with an attribution to Botticelli rather than Filippino. In fact, the National Gallery acquired the painting from the celebrated Hamilton Collection in 1882 as a work of Botticelli. This attribution remained into the twentieth century, not least due to the painting's similarities with Botticelli's Adoration of the Kings, on which the young Filippino collaborated as a member of Botticelli's workshop.

In around 1496, Filippino made an altarpiece depicting the same subject, now considered his masterpiece (Uffizi, Florence). It may not be coincidental that the figure standing in the foreground of that picture has been identified as a member of the Pugliese family. Despite the much larger dimensions of the altarpiece, Filippino retained numerous compositional elements, such as the central position of the holy family and the separation of the retinue of the Kings into two flanking groups.

Style: Early Renaissance
This panel comes from the same altarpiece as an image of Saint Peter that's also in our collection, and other panels are housed in collections around the world. The saint depicted is Mary Magdalene, identifiable by the ointment jar she holds and her robes of bright scarlet, a colour traditionally associated with her.

Saint Mary Magdalene was linked with the Mary of the Gospels, who Christ allowed to wash his feet when he was dining with his followers (John 12: 1--8). She was also the first person to whom Christ appeared after his resurrection. Mary had gone to his tomb with ointment, planning to anoint his body, but found it empty. Instead she saw Christ, and mistook him for a gardener (John 20: 1--18).

The artist has taken great care to paint the ointment jar so that it resembles white marble with pink and blue veins. Its surface has a soft luminosity, an effect achieved by painting a thin layer of white paint over a base of layer of bright colours. This technique is known as scumbling.

Style: Gothic, Early Renaissance
Saint Catherine rests her hand on a wheel studded with metal spikes -- the instrument on which she was tortured for her Christian faith, according to legend. She survived, but was eventually beheaded. Her crown indicates her royal status: she was a princess from the Egyptian city of Alexandria. Saint Bartholomew holds a knife, the symbol of his martyrdom: he was flayed alive.

The panel probably formed the right-hand side of a triptych. It once had an arched top but this was cut off before the painting entered our collection. The saints look to their right, where the central panel -- most likely an image of the Virgin and Child -- would have been.

The saints appear weighty and solid, partly because of the way the artist has painted the cloaks: the folds are shaded but their edges, where they catch the light, are highlighted, making them look three-dimensional. The sturdiness of the figures recalls the work of Florentine artists like Giotto, who pioneered this style of painting in the early fourteenth century. Allegretto Nuzi was from the town of Fabriano in the Italian Marches, but also worked in Florence; he was registered in the painters' guild there in 1346. The saints' decorative cloaks, painted to look as though they are embroidered with gold thread, reflect Sienese artists' love of pattern; Nuzi may have worked there too.

This picture is unsigned, and is an interesting example of the methods used to associate an unsigned work with an artist. It has been connected with the workshop of Allegretto Nuzi on the basis of the decorative marks, called punch-marks, made in the gold leaf and which we see in the haloes and the border; they are also found in other pictures by the artist. Each workshop had its own punching tools, so punch-marks can often be used to identify where a picture was made. The style of painting and the lettering in the inscriptions, however, resemble works by Francescuccico Ghissi. Nuzi and Ghissi had collaborated on other works and so it's possible that Nuzi designed the picture and Ghissi painted it in his workshop, using his tools.

A roundel showing Christ Blessing (Bowdoin College, Brunswick, Maine) has been connected with this panel on the basis of its condition. It appears to have been painted by Nuzi and was probably placed above the central panel. This suggests that Nuzi might have painted the central panel while Ghissi worked on the side panels.

Saints Catherine and Bartholomew both had churches dedicated to them in Nuzi's hometown of Fabriano, where he returned after he left Florence in 1348. In Fabriano, he collaborated on several works with Ghissi; it seems likely, then, that this work was made there.

Style: Gothic, Early Renaissance
This is a picture of calm. A single branch points up out of water, leading our eyes across the painting towards the small boats almost hidden in shadows and reflections cast by the grey alder trees on the river bank.

The water is flat, without a ripple. The reflections are perfect. No wind stirs the sails, no flags lift in a breeze. The men in the boat are crouched and still, apart from one who stands upright facing a leafless tree ahead of him -- almost like two sentinels with an invisible line between them.

These vessels are kaags, shallow-bottomed working boats for use mostly on rivers and canals. But Salomon van Ruysdael makes them stately and serene, their tall masts almost seeming to pierce the clouds, with a rhythmic line of trees and sails reaching out on a diagonal into the distance. Close to us, the only moving things are two birds that swoop low over the water. Further out, where the river appears to divide, the sail of a small boat seems to fill a little in the breeze and a family of ducks ventures across the water.

There were a handful of reasons to make such a painting. First was the idyll itself -- a purely decorative and restorative picture hung on the walls of a busy Dutch household. But the black dots making a semi-circle on the still water are cork floats, defining the edges of a large fishing net. The men in the nearest boat aren't idling away their time. They are fishermen, and fishing was one of the main industries that gave the Dutch Republic its wealth. These are ordinary working men, shown realistically, thought worthy of a picture because they were part of the pride that the Dutch had in their building of a new nation: the taming of rivers, the digging and reinforcing of canals and dams, the creation of a new land from the sea by hard labour. Dutch lives and livelihoods were built on water and they wished to celebrate it in all its forms.

Salomon van Ruysdael was one of a family of painters, including his nephew Jacob van Ruisdael, who specialised in land and seascapes. Although living in Haarlem, it appears that Salomon travelled widely in the Netherlands as he produced views of many other towns and cities. He left no drawings or sketches, so must have painted from memory or from the many prints available made by other artists.

The technique of showing distance by portraying a spit of land cutting across the canvas on the diagonal and diminishing in size is particularly his, but Salomon shared his taste for painting in soft muted greys, greens and browns with his fellow marine landscape artist and colleague, Jan van Goyen.

Style: Baroque
The aged antiquarian and doctor Ludovicus Nonnius meets our gaze with watery eyes. With his slightly parted lips, he appears to engage us in discussing a passage from the book he holds, which is most likely his recently published text, Diaeteticon sive de recibaria, Libri IV. In this he argues for the importance of diet, his research based on the eating habits of the ancient Romans.

Nonnius was a friend of Rubens in Antwerp, and the artist shows his respect for the old scholar by painting him in fine clothing, seated in a stately chair and framed by grand classical architecture. His hair is grey but coiffed, and his moustache fashionably twisted. Light is thrown from an invisible window into the gloomy space, catching the profile of the sculpted bust, highlighting Nonnius's face and his open book and bouncing off the wall on the right.

The bust is identified in Greek lettering as Hippocrates (around 460--around 370 BC), the founder of medicine and a respected forebear of Nonnius in terms of his medical and classical learning. It is incredibly life-like, showing the whites of his eyes, a green-tinted iris and a black pupil, as if Hippocrates had returned to life for the occasion. As well as serving to balance the composition, the books on the ledge opposite emphasise the scholarly achievements of the sitter; the covers of two hang undone, suggesting that he has recently consulted them.

Style: Baroque
This still-life painting -- one of the most popular genres in seventeenth-century Holland -- celebrates the challenges of depicting the play of light on different surfaces and textures. Look at the way the artist has depicted the subtle highlights on the weave of the Turkish carpet, the sheen and lustre on silver and glass, the moist flesh of the lemon and waxy texture of its peel. The detail is so fine and convincing that if you look closely at the gleam of light on the rim of the left-hand glass you can even make out the reflection of a window.

But this picture is full of energy as well as detail. Look at powerful curves of the buffalo horn which sweep down from the top of the picture, and how they are countered by the arched tail of the lobster poised below. The lobster's bright red shell and its drooping antennae confirm that it has been cooked, but the set of that tail and the menacing glint in its eye seem to suggest otherwise, adding power and tension to the composition. There are moments of stillness and serenity too, captured by the sunbeams which glow in the decanter and glasses.

These objects were not only chosen to display the painter’s virtuosity, they also celebrate a sumptuous lifestyle. Lobster was a luxury dish and lemons were rare and expensive, as were the fine glass, oriental rug and silver tableware. There's red and white wine, adding to a sense of indulgence and plenty -- a sense also reflected in rich colours, offset by the dark background.

It is a combination which is typical of what was known at the time as a 'Pronkstilleven' or 'ostentatious still life’. The artist, Willem Kalf, was its most famous and successful exponent. He had been born in Rotterdam but in 1653, at the age of 34, he settled in Amsterdam. This painting was probably made just after that, when he was establishing himself as the leading still-life painter in Holland.

This work was probably commissioned by a member, or members, of the Saint Sebastian Archers' Guild in Amsterdam. It formed part of the civic guard, which was intended to protect the city from attack but was also a sort of high-status gentlemen’s club. The connection with the guild is suggested by the intricate base of the silver mount which holds the drinking horn. It depicts the martyrdom of their patron, Saint Sebastian: he's tied to a tree, shot with arrows and guarded by his persecutors, two Roman soldiers. At the top of the mount a lion holds a shield bearing the arms of the city of Amsterdam. The theme of archery is also echoed in the support underneath the table, which has been carved into a figure of the Roman god Cupid, famous for his arrows of love.

If it was a guild, rather than a personal, commission, it may well have hung in their headquarters, a shooting range on the Singel Canal in Amsterdam which was known as the Handboogdoelen. The building still exists.

Style: Baroque
This painting tells the traditional Christmas story -- how Christ was born in a stable, and his mother 'laid him in a manger, because there was no room for them at the inn' (Luke 2: 7). The infant Christ, lying in the manger, is watched over by Mary, Joseph and adoring angels, while an ox and donkey peer out of the darkness behind.

The Bible goes on to describe how shepherds were watching their flocks at night when 'an angel of the Lord stood by them, and the brightness of God shone round them' (Luke 2: 9). Through the crumbling back wall of the stable we see them, huddled around a fire, their dog beside them. They gaze up in awe at the shining angel. One shields his eyes with his red cloak; another kneels, throwing up his hands in wonder.

The scene in the stable is lit by the divine glow of the Christ Child; the rays would once have been more visible. This idea comes from the writings of the popular fourteenth-century mystic Saint Bridget of Sweden, who described the birth of Christ: 'she gave birth to her son, from whom radiated such an ineffable light and splendour, that the sun was not comparable to it, nor did the candle that Saint Joseph had put there, give any light at all, the divine light totally annihilating the material light of the candle.'

This picture has almost universally been attributed to Geertgen tot Sint Jans. It is closest in style to paintings normally assigned to the later years of his short career and was possibly painted in about 1490. The idea of the night scene lit in this way was not Geertgen's -- it was based on two lost night-time Nativity scenes by Hugo van der Goes.

This small painting was probably made for private devotional use. Although less complex and ambitious than the lost work by van der Goes, it is perhaps more touching. The divine glow from the infant Christ is a pocket of light in the darkness, creating a sense of intimacy and awe which draws us into the scene. The artist has carefully differentiated the different sources of light: the child in the manger, the fire and the angel.

The painting was once more colourful, as well as larger. It has darkened so much it is hard to make out some of the details, like the basket hanging from the beam in the top right corner or the sheaf of corn leaning against the back wall. It was cut down to its present size in 1901 and was damaged by fire in 1904 while it was in a private collection in Berlin. The extreme heat may have made the paint bubble, and caused the many tiny round losses, visible in the Virgin's forehead for example. Colours have changed: the Virgin's dress and mantle were once different shades of blue but now look black, as does the sky.

Style: Gothic, Early Renaissance
This small picture shows the great Piazza San Marco -- the most famous square in Venice -- seen through a tall archway. Canaletto had already used this device in a view of London (private collection), in which we look at the city from beneath the newly constructed Westminster Bridge, but it is a unique composition among his Venetian scenes.

Canaletto has placed us in the shadows, just behind a small group of figures; it's as if we are walking past them along the colonnade. A vendor surrounded by baskets shows his wares to two gentlemen, though it's not clear what he is selling. A small dog waits patiently. Perched on a barrel, a man turns his head towards us, while another peeps out from behind a pillar.

The archway focuses attention on the buildings beyond: a frontal view of the Basilica di San Marco, the city’s most sacred church -- it housed the relics of Saint Mark the Evangelist -- and to the right, its elegant campanile (bell tower). Canaletto drew and painted the campanile numerous times, but he nearly always showed it as taller and more slender than it was in reality. Between the campanile and the column in front of us, we catch a tiny glimpse of the Doge’s Palace.

The paving stones and buildings that line the square recede at a sharp angle, which Canaletto exaggerated, leading our eye deeper into the scene. The white stone lines laid across the square -- marking the position of temporary stalls during religious possessions, public celebrations and merchant fairs -- line up perfectly with the furthest left arch of the basilica beyond. As in the companion piece to this work, Canaletto altered the perspective to create these pleasing points of intersection.

On the left we see the Procuratie Vecchie, Venice's longest building. Stretching 500 feet along the piazza, it housed the offices of the procurators of San Marco, a prestigious position responsible for the upkeep of the piazza and its architecture. The Procuratie Nuove is on the opposite side (its colonnade was chosen as the viewpoint for the pendant painting). The arch from which we view the square here no longer exists: this side of the piazza was demolished in 1807 by Napoleon Bonaparte during the French occupation of Venice, and replaced with his palatial residence (now the Museo Correr).

Although this picture is unusual in its viewpoint, the muted colour palette and strongly outlined architectural features are typical of Canaletto's late style. The scene is softly lit. Dots and swirls of paint pick out the basilica and the people in the distance, creating the impression that we are looking on from afar.

Style: Rococo, Neoclassical
Backgammon (triktrak in Dutch) was a highly popular board game in seventeenth-century Flanders, especially in taverns and drinking dens, where players would bet on the outcome. The white cube we see in the centre of the board is probably a doubling die, used to up the stakes. Gambling of this kind was often frowned upon -- especially when associated, as here, with other vices such as drinking and smoking -- and appears frequently in paintings of the time, often indicating moral degeneracy.

But while not entirely respectable, the game was considered by many to be a legitimate source of amusement. Here, Teniers has captured the tension at a critical moment of the game. Few counters are left on the board and the man on the right appears eager for his opponent, with the white counter, to cast the dice. All his black counters are stacked ready to be cleared -- with the right throw he will be able to claim victory.

The scene in front of the hearth in the background on the right reappears in Teniers’ Christ Crowned with Thorns.

Style: Baroque
Between the late 1650s and early 1660s Rembrandt painted a series of intimate half-length pictures of religious figures. He seems to have been particularly fascinated by Saint Paul, and even painted himself in the guise of the apostle in 1661 (Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam). Theologians from the various Protestant denominations in Rembrandt’s Holland also actively engaged with Saint Paul, considering him the most important authority for interpreting the Gospel. The Paul we see here is not a self portrait. It has been suggested that the painting is a portrait of a contemporary sitter in the guise of Paul, a so-called portrait historié; alternatively, Rembrandt may have used a model instead of creating an imaginative depiction of the apostle.

Saint Paul stares outward, the red hat and his distinctive grey hair and beard framing a pensive face. His hands folded in prayer are a prominent feature that lights up the lower half of the picture. The saint’s traditional attributes, just about visible in the darkness, are what identify him: a book sits open on the table in front of him, and the sword of his martyrdom leans against the wall behind, next to a door opening.

On close examination, there's another detail that identifies this man as Saint Paul. Above the sword, Rembrandt has painted a sculpted bas-relief roundel that depicts Abraham about to sacrifice his son Isaac on God’s instruction. An angel intervenes, preventing the murder. Rembrandt painted this exact moment some decades earlier, in a picture now in the State Hermitage Museum, St Petersburg; he also made an etching of the subject in 1655, with which the painted roundel shares some formal similarities. Another roundel appears to the right of Paul here, but it is badly rubbed and we are not sure if it once contained a related episode from the Old Testament. Both roundels were only rediscovered when the picture was cleaned in 1945--6.

Saint Paul praised Abraham’s response to the test of faith in his Epistle to the Hebrews (11: 17--20), and considered Abraham’s faith an example of piety. By including the attempted sacrifice, Rembrandt introduced in his painting what in Christian theology is called typology; that is, relating an Old Testament event or figure to a New Testament one and examining the relationship between the two. El Greco used the sacrifice of Isaac similarly in Christ driving the Traders from the Temple, also in the National Gallery's collection.

Rembrandt’s painting is dominated by dark brown and ochre tones, typical of the master at this stage of his career. The picture is signed and dated to the right of Paul’s head, and although there is some loss here, the last digit is probably a ‘9’, dating the painting to 1659.

Style: Baroque
This is Saint Paul, one of the apostles who preached about Christ after he was crucified. Paul travelled throughout Greece spreading Christ's message and was beheaded for his faith in the first century AD in Rome.

He is often shown holding a large sword;  it appears black here because the silver leaf used for the blade has darkened over time. This darkening has obscured its detail but infrared reflectography shows that it has bevelled (sloped) edges and even the mark of an armourer. The saint has bare feet, expressing his simplicity and humility, but he stands upon a textile decorated with phoenixes and gilded peacock heads against fanned out tail feathers. This reflects his status as one of the most important apostles.

The artist used a technique called sgraffito to achieve the richness of the textile. It involved painting over a layer of gold leaf and then scratching the paint away in places, before it was fully dry, to reveal the gold beneath. He also textured the gold leaf using a fine tool called a punch, and a technique called stippling. This helped the surface to catch candlelight in the chapel and glow, creating a dazzling effect.

This is the right-hand panel of the main tier of an altarpiece showing the baptism of Christ. Saint Peter often appears alongside Saint Paul, and he is in the panel on the other side of the central scene of the baptism.

Style: Gothic, Early Renaissance