wrmthorne/National_Gallery_style_classification huggingface dataset:
A youthful Saint John the Evangelist supports a grey-faced and anguished Virgin Mary. This is one of two shutters from a triptych (a painting in three sections), which presumably flanked an image of the suffering Christ, which is now lost.

The back is painted too, and shows a bishop holding an open book, standing above a shield with a coat of arms (for the coats of arms, see The Donor and Saint Mary Magdalene). Two keys hang from a cord on his left wrist. There appear to be two standing figures on his morse (the clasp on his cope) but the detail is difficult to make out. A veil is tied to his crosier. Aside from the shield beneath his feet, everything is rendered in tones of black, grey and white.

The bishop's identity remains uncertain. He may be Saint Peter, to whom Christ metaphorically gave the keys to the kingdom of heaven, and who, as first bishop of Rome, might appropriately be depicted wearing a mitre on his head. He was, however, normally shown bearded and wearing a grander papal tiara. The only other male saint depicted holding two keys seems to have been the seventh-century Saint Riquier, but he was an abbot, not a bishop. Saint Servatius was a bishop, and while one of his emblems was a key -- he was patron of locksmiths -- he was shown with only one, and was often accompanied by a dragon.

The Virgin must have looked as if she was kneeling on the original frame, as did the donor in the other panel. The current frames are old, but not original. They bear the marks of hinges, which were almost certainly in place when the wings were still fixed to the lost central panel, but their carpentry is rather crude: before treatment in 1986--7 neither panel fitted well into its frame. The unpainted edges show that the original frames were engaged (made from the same piece of wood as the panel) and were secured with pegs that fitted into holes in the unpainted edges. It remains to be discovered why the original frames were removed and replaced, apparently when the panels still formed part of a triptych.

Style: High Renaissance
An ageing bearded man looks out of the painting, holding a statuette in his left hand. He is painted within an oval fictive stone frame and the foreshortened statuette emerges from the painted space into our own, making him seem all the more lifelike. This motif of a figure coming out of a fictive frame also appears in another painting in our collection -- the Self Portrait by Bartolomé Esteban Murillo.

The presence of the statuette suggests that the man represented here may be a sculptor or a collector, but there are no other clues as to the sitter’s identity. The statue itself is probably a reduced copy, made of plaster, after an antique sculpture. The figure’s pose is close to that of a Roman marble sculpture made around 100 BC, known as the Borghese Gladiator (Louvre, Paris). It is also reminiscent of the Kassel Apollo, a Greek bronze sculpture of Apollo known through numerous Roman marble copies (the best of which is preserved in the German town of Kassel, from which the sculpture takes its name).

The identity of the painter remains a mystery. The work came into the National Gallery's collection as by the Genoese painter Bernardo Strozzi -- an attribution that was proposed again more recently. The picture is certainly Italian and has been associated with both Genoese and Venetian painters, on account of its loose brushwork and fluid handling of paint.

This painting was presented to the National Gallery by Francis Denis Lycett Green (1893--1959), a philanthropist who began buying pictures in the 1920s on the advice of some of the most notable art historians of his time. By the 1940s, Lycett Green’s collection consisted of over 130 paintings and was displayed in his country house in Goudhurst, Kent. A large proportion of his paintings went to the York Art Gallery but he also presented pictures to the National Gallery, including Giuseppe Bazzani's Saint Anthony of Padua with the Infant Christ, a pastel portrait by Jean-Baptiste Perroneau, and a seventeenth-century painting of a woman resting on a sword (probably Saint Catherine of Alexandria).

Style: Baroque, Academic
It is winter. One or two evergreens are visible, but the tree on the far side of the wall is leafless, as are the espaliered fruit trees growing up against the fence and the vine growing over the roof in the foreground. We seem to be looking at a scene just outside a kitchen -- there is an outlet from a sink inside the house to the drain at the bottom of the wall on the right. A maid has brought a steaming cauldron out from the kitchen stove and placed it near the open drain in the courtyard. Apparently obeying her mistress, who stands in front of her, she seems to have taken the fish out of the cooking pot; perhaps she is doing this outside to make it easier to pour away the water.

One of the most appealing aspects of Dutch seventeenth-century painting is the insight it gives us into everyday life, and especially the lives of women. Scenes of ordinary mothers and children or maids and their mistresses at ease in their own homes had hardly been depicted in art before. But in Holland from about the 1640s, the theme became a popular one.

Pieter de Hooch’s paintings are some of the most evocative examples of the genre. We see the women in his paintings working and playing -- in gardens and courtyards, as here, and in their living rooms, kitchens and bedrooms. These scenes were not necessarily 'real'; they were often idealised, perhaps offering examples of the sort of virtues required of women who were expected to administer a clean, harmonious household. But they were realistic. Rather than copy a room exactly, the artist might construct one out of familiar elements that seemed authentic to his or her contemporaries.

It seems that de Hooch composed this courtyard scene in just such a way. It was his usual practice. If you look at the far wall, there is a small pavilion or summer house -- a portico with an open front supported by double columns. It is leaning against the brickwork, alongside the shed with the steeply sloping roof. The same summer house appears in two other paintings (Portrait of a Family in a Courtyard in Delft in the Academy of Fine Arts, Vienna; Woman and Child in a Courtyard in the National Gallery of Art, Washington). The Washington painting has a water pump identical to the one here but in a different position. De Hooch also seems to have used the same broom and pail as models on another occasion; very similar examples feature in his most famous courtyard scene, The Courtyard of a House in Delft.

Another distinctive characteristic of de Hooch’s paintings is the way in which he creates both a realistic sense of space and glimpses of the world beyond the picture. Here, the open door and window on the right hint at the kitchen that we can’t quite see, while two gates standing ajar create a long view down the garden path and through to some steps in the far distance.

Style: Baroque
The story of the Purification of the Temple is told in all the Gospels: Christ had gone to the Temple to celebrate Passover, but found people selling sheep, oxen and doves for sacrifice. Angry that his father's house -- the house of God -- was being used for profit he 'made a scourge of small cords [and] drove them all out of the temple' (John 2: 14--16).

El Greco painted this subject at least four times, but this is one of the most dramatic versions. In the sixteenth century the episode was seen as a parallel to the cleansing of the Catholic Church through the Counter-Reformation, and often featured on medals made for popes. El Greco has used exaggerated gestures and intense colours to reinforce the message of his picture. Christ's energy and anger is expressed through his movement, his right arm raised ready to strike the man draped in a vibrant yellow cloth. His body twists with this forceful gesture; he looks like a spring ready to uncoil. El Greco has drawn attention to this shape by wrapping a contrasting blue drape around his red tunic.

The man in yellow mirrors Christ's pose: he recoils, arching his back and raising his hand to protect his face. This causes a domino effect and the figures behind him lean backwards to avoid being struck or crushed. The painting shows El Greco's debt to Renaissance art that he saw on his travels to Venice and Rome. Christ's dynamic pose resembles a figure of Christ in a painting by Titian and that of the trader recoiling looks like a figure in an altarpiece by Michelangelo. The figures on the other side of Christ are much calmer. They look on at the scene and whisper among themselves. The man with the grey beard in the foreground is the apostle Peter, recognisable by his traditional blue and yellow robes.

Buildings just visible through the central archway recall Venetian palaces with lower storey arcades that served as moorings for boats in the city. El Greco spent some time in Venice in 1568 and became very interested in using architecture in his paintings. In our picture the columns are cropped; they indicate a grand architectural setting but El Greco does not describe it.

The only details he does include are the sculpted reliefs on the walls either side of the archway. On the left, Adam and Eve are being cast out of the Garden of Eden; on the right, we see the attempted sacrifice of Isaac by his father Abraham, following God's command (it was stopped by an angel). Adam and Eve are a parallel for the sinful traders: they were driven from paradise, God's garden, just as Christ drives those engaged in commerce from the temple, God's house. The sacrifice of Isaac symbolises not only obedience to God's will but also Christ's own sacrifice at his crucifixion, which was seen to redeem the sin of Adam and Eve.

Style: Baroque
This painting could be considered a companion piece to another by Emanuel de Witte: The Interior of the Oude Kerk, Amsterdam, during a Sermon. It shows the same section of Amsterdam’s Oude Kerk (Saint Nicholas Church) but seen from the opposite position, in the north aisle instead of the south.

Such paintings are not necessarily completely accurate depictions of church interiors. With some artistic license, details were added or moved to make the view more interesting. For instance, the small organ that de Witte painted in the other picture has here been transposed to the opposite side of the church, showing some insight into the artist’s working process. De Witte painted many churches while working in Alkmaar, Delft, Rotterdam, and lastly Amsterdam, where this painting originated.

The atmospheric light is eye catching, and gives the church an air of tranquillity. Two rows of windows are visible, and all the interesting stained-glass details are in the lower one. Three roundels crown the central window -- the middle one shows a ship, the other two heraldic symbols. The ship might be a reference to Amsterdam’s position as a mercantile centre: the source of the city’s wealth was trade by sea and canal. The central roundel in the right window displays Amsterdam’s coat of arms, a red shield and a black pale with three silver Saint Andrew's Crosses. An elaborate stained-glass scene makes up the lower half of the middle window. Here, the Four Evangelists -- Saints Matthew, Mark, Luke and John -- are seated around a table, surrounded by their attributes. An angel approaches them from the left, and above its wings clouds open up to reveal a heavenly golden glow. De Witte painted the light effects with great mastery, clearly thinking about how light looks when it passes through stained glass.

The light that falls on the foreground group has come through the windows across the nave. A dog -- it looks like either a Drentsche Patrijshond (Dutch Partridge Dog) or a Kooikerhondje -- bathes in the light, and even it seems to pay attention to the preacher, who addresses his audience from the pulpit on the column (highlighting the importance of the sermon in the Dutch Reformed Church). The city employed so-called ‘hondenslagers’ or ‘hondenmeppers' to hunt down stray dogs and to make sure that the animals stayed out of churches, as their barking would distract from the preacher sharing God’s word. The congregation here, however, seems anything but distracted, either attentively listening or reading from the Bible.

Style: Baroque
The inscription at the top of the painting tells us that this is a portrait of Leonello d'Este, the Marquis of Ferrara. Leonello succeeded his father in 1441, six years before this portrait was made. As the illegitimate second son of Nicolo III d' Este he had not expected to inherit the title, but in 1425 his older brother Ugo was executed by Niccolo for having an affair with his stepmother, Parisina Malatesta.

Oriolo's portrait shows Leonello in profile against a dark blue background.  This angle emphasises the high bridge of his nose, which extends almost without break from his sloping forehead. His broad cheeks cover low cheekbones; his fleshy lips protrude over a rounded chin and jaw. The tips of his large ears are tucked under an abundance of dense red curls. He wears simple dress for a duke: a black pleated tabard (a short, sleeveless tunic) over a pink doublet, with buttons at the collar. Both are decorated with gold -- the sleeve of the doublet is encircled with tiny golden flowers or sunbursts.

Leonello was particularly choosy about his painted image. When he became Marquis he commissioned Giovanni Bellini and Pisanello to paint his portrait in competition with each other. The story of the competition is told by the poet Ulisse degli Aleotti in his poem 'on a Famous Contest' written in 1442. No painting of Leonello by Bellini survives but Pisanello's portrait is in the Accademia Carrara, Bergamo. Here too Pisanello shows him in profile, emphasising his prominent lower lip and long, bony nose. Pisanello's picture is slightly more refined and decorative: Leonello's costume is more embellished and there are flowers in the background.

The profile view derived from portraits of the aristocracy in France and Burgundy where it was popular from about 1400. It remained fashionable in Italy until around 1470, but Leonello may have favoured it because it associated him with Roman emperors whose profiles were stamped on ancient coins. Leonello was tutored by the famous scholar Guarino da Verona, and, in common with other well-educated people of this period, had a keen interest in the art and ideas of antiquity. The profile portrait communicated not only his authority as a recently established ruler but also his learning. Leonello also embraced the fashion for portrait medals which arose in response to the interest in Roman coins, commissioning Pisanello to make portrait medals featuring his own image. It was the tradition for the reverse of these medals to make a point about the character or qualities of the subject on the front. One of Pisanello's medals, for example, shows a blindfolded lynx -- code for diplomatic skill, the need to turn a blind eye.

This is the only signed work by Oriolo who worked at the court in Ferrara from 1443 to 1449. He has squeezed in the 's' of his first name (signed here in Latin: IOHANIS) so as not to paint over Leonello's tabard or short cloak.

Style: Gothic, Early Renaissance
This quiet domestic scene shows all the warmth and intimacy of Vuillard's late paintings. We are in the elegant drawing room of a Parisian home -- that of the Wormser family, at 27 rue Scheffer. The decoration reflects the taste of fashionable French society in the 1920s: pictures by Manet, Monet, Renoir and Roussel hang on the wall, and above the piano, obscured by the reflection of a striped sun canopy, is a large pastel by Degas.

Standing to the left is Madame Wormser, née Olga Boris, the wife of French banker André Wormser. Their four children -- Diane, Sabine, Dominique and Olivier -- are grouped in the brightly lit area on the right. Diane sits with the family's pet dog at her feet and a musical score in her hands. Sabine, the youngest daughter, is next to her, absorbed in Dominique's piano playing. Olivier stands at the back.

Olivier served as an officer in the French Free Forces during the Second World War, and presented this painting to the National Gallery in thanks to the British nation.

Style: Nabi
This serious-looking woman is Hermanna van der Cruis (1615--1705). She was married to Abraham van Suchtelen, who was appointed  burgomaster (mayor) of Deventer, a prosperous town, 100 km east of Amsterdam, in 1646. By the time he died in 1661, he was a member of the Dutch parliament. This portrait was probably painted in the second half of the 1660s, when Hermanna was about 50. She did not remarry and would almost certainly have been a wealthy widow, and would have commanded respect in the upper circles of Deventer society.

Had her husband still been alive, the couple most likely would have commissioned two pendant portraits, and she would probably have been portrayed in the right-hand painting, turning towards her husband on her right -- not as here, turned to her left.

Hermanna liked the painting well enough to commission three versions. One is now in the Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna, and differs from the others in that it includes a simple still life of fruit, a goblet and a jug on the table. The third (now in a private collection) is extremely similar to our portrait and has her name inscribed on the reverse of the canvas. It was probably painted a little later because her gauze collar is rather shorter, reflecting a later fashion.

Ter Borch had introduced this type of full-length, small-scale portrait in the 1640s, while travelling and painting in many parts of Europe. It seems to have remained popular for at least two decades, especially in Deventer, where he settled after his marriage in 1654. By setting his figures against a dark, unfussy background and using strong blocks of colour to contrast with the black and white clothing fashionable at the time, he created arresting compositions which highlighted what was important to his clients: the faces of the sitters and how they were dressed. Though conservative in colour, the clothes of wealthy people were an important status symbol; ter Borch was particularly admired for his ability to capture soft textures such as the expensive gauze, satin and velvet we see in this portrait. The setting here -- the velvet-covered table, a gold-tasselled chair -- seems to have been particularly popular. He uses the same props in other portraits, including Portrait of a Young Man.

Some art historians believe that ter Borch's full-length portraits -- with their clear colour contrasts, spare backgrounds, and focus on the surface of rich fabrics -- may have been influenced by Diego Velázquez, court painter to the Spanish king and one of the most famous artists in Europe at the time. This might be possible; there's evidence that ter Borch travelled to Spain. But Velázquez, who was painting royal portraits for royal palaces, usually worked on a much larger scale and liked to fill the picture frame with a life-size figure. Ter Borch adapted his style to the smaller scale parlours and living rooms of his rather less prestigious clients.

Style: Baroque
In his first letter to the Corinthians, Saint Paul outlines the importance of faith, hope and charity, naming charity as the greatest of the three.  At the time this picture was painted, charity meant combining the love of god with love of one’s neighbour. From the sixteenth century onward, charity was often represented as a woman, shown breastfeeding a child or children; Van Dyck instead shows three infants clinging to his allegorical figure. She is celestial Charity and her upward glance links her to heaven -- the source of her strength as she struggles to fulfil others' needs. The three children probably represent Faith, Hope and Love, all of whom need Charity to pave their way to heaven.

In response to the Protestant Reformation there was a resurgence of Catholicism, known as the Counter-Reformation. There was a renewed focus on devotional life and on cultivating a personal relationship with Christ. Added to this was a growth of mysticism and a widespread cult of the Virgin Mary. Here, Charity is clothed in white, symbolising purity. The deep blue cloak billowing behind her is painted in shades of ultramarine, the colour traditionally associated with the Virgin. The radiant blue and the earthy red colour of the satin fabric over Charity’s knees perhaps represent the sought-after link between earth and heaven.

Van Dyck painted the picture shortly after his return from a long stay in Venice, where he came under the influence of his contemporary Guido Reni and the great Renaissance artist  Titian. The rich colours of Titian are evident in the lustrous drapery, although it's thought that they have changed over time and were once a little more subdued. From Reni, Van Dyck has taken the device of the upward glance towards heaven. Two of Reni’s paintings using this device are in the National Gallery's collection. In Saint Mary Magdalene, it’s the glance of a penitent longing for heavenly forgiveness; in The Rape of Europa, the nymph may look for a rescuer, though the small Cupid aiming his arrow at her heart suggests that she will no longer want to escape.

Unusually, Van Dyck painted the image on an oak panel; most of his pictures -- especially portraits -- were painted on canvas. The wooden support enabled him to paint fluently, particularly on the strong modelling of the infants' rounded forms and the folds of the white drapery. These were blended from the light to the shadows leaving almost no brushmarks, achieving a surface as smooth and luminous as enamel. This finish may well have been at the request of the person who commissioned the work.

The painting was engraved by Cornelis van Caukercken shortly after Van Dyck’s death. It was widely disseminated, perhaps helping to account for the great popularity of the image at the time.

Style: Baroque