wrmthorne/National_Gallery_style_classification huggingface dataset:
An elderly but muscular man with an impressive beard sits in a rocky landscape. Beside him is a pile of books, on top of which sits a skull wearing a cardinal's hat. He leans on a second pile, and points to the text of an open volume resting on a rocky ledge.

This is the fourth-century scholar and hermit, Saint Jerome. One of the so-called Doctors of the Church, Jerome produced the standard Latin translation of the Bible, known as the Vulgate. After a misspent but highly educated youth, he converted to Christianity and went to live an ascetic life in the desert of Chalcis in Syria. He later went to Rome and became secretary to the pope, which is why he is often shown wearing red robes and a cardinal's hat even though the office did not exist in his lifetime.

Jerome was often shown in the wilderness -- as for example in Bellini's Saint Jerome reading in a Landscape -- surrounded by the tools of a scholar, and accompanied by a tame lion (here with peculiarly human eyes). According to legend, he earned its trust by removing a thorn from its paw. The skull on the pile of books is a vanitas, a reminder of death; the cross leaning at the right is the focus of his prayers when distracted by sinful thoughts.

Always a popular saint, Jerome became even more important during the Counter-Reformation. In 1546, in response to Protestant programmes to translate the Bible into the vernacular, the Council of Trent declared the Vulgate the official translation. The angel who flies down from the top left corner, pointing both up at heaven and down towards the saint and his works, does not relate to a specific incident but shows that Jerome's translation was divinely inspired.

This is the earliest surviving documented picture by Domenichino. He painted several versions of the subject, but this one is recorded in the collection of Cardinal Pietro Aldobrandini in 1603. Aldobrandini was one of the greatest patrons in early seventeenth-century Rome: he  also commissioned Annibale Carracci's Christ appearing to Saint Peter on the Appian Way (Domine, Quo Vadis?) and the Villa Aldobrandini frescoes. In 1592 Aldobrandini's uncle, Pope Clement VIII, had issued the definitive edition of the Vulgate, known as the Clementine, so the subject of Saint Jerome probably had a particular significance for him.

Domenichino went to Rome in 1602, following his master Annibale Carracci, and was heavily influenced by Annibale's early Roman style. This painting is closely comparable with Annibale's  Christ appearing to Saint Anthony Abbot during his Temptation, while the specific detail of the lion with its head on its paws appears in a 1602 engraving by Agostino Carracci.

Technical investigation has revealed that there was originally a standing figure behind the saint, perhaps from an earlier version of the picture which showed Jerome being tempted by demons, as in Domenichino's fresco of the Temptation of Saint Jerome in San Onofrio al Gianicolo, Rome, painted a year or two later.

Style: Baroque, Academic
This isn’t a portrait of a person, it is an allegory -- an attempt to represent an idea or, perhaps more accurately, an ideal. We see a young man, upright and slightly aloof as he turns his head to look us directly in the eye.

Much of the painting is in gloom, but his face is bathed in the glow from a window high on the left of the picture. The light which streams in picks out the gold embroidery embellishing his cloak, the sceptre which he lays against a globe, and the victor’s laurel wreath he wears around his head. It also reflects back off the curved burnished steel of his cuirass (breastplate), while a crown of state and a coronet glimmer on top of the fragment of classical architecture which he stands before. It appears to be the capital of a square column and the cracks and chips in the stone are probably meant to indicate its antique, classical status rather than imply a symbolic meaning.

With his left hand he gestures to the floor where there is an untidy heap of armour and weapons, as well as what seems to be a military snare drum, weapons and a long curved horn or trumpet. These are the accoutrements of war, and in the background there is also a stand of lances, and an indeterminate flag draped over a bass drum.

Interpreting this symbolism is tricky. The figure may be based on a book of iconology by Cesare Ripa which was published around this time. It includes an illustration of a sumptuously dressed woman wearing a wreath and breastplate and carrying a sceptre. The woman also holds a book, which is missing here; perhaps the parchment in front of our figure may have a similar function. The figure in Ripa’s book is captioned as Merit. If this was de Poorter’s intention here, then we might understand the image as an embodiment of Merit assuming worldly power, and so representing the Just Ruler. He stands (literally) enlightened, the sceptre indicating his authority over the world, or his domain; the crowns, his regal status; the cuirass his strength. He seems to reject the instruments and bombast of war however, in favour of the laws inscribed on the parchment.

The painting was made in about 1636, while this part of the Netherlands was still struggling for independence from the authoritarian rule of Spain, so such a theme is likely to have been a popular one.

Willem de Poorter was apparently born in Haarlem, where he worked. He may have been a pupil of Rembrandt who seems to have influenced his early works around 1631--3, the time when Rembrandt moved from Leiden to Amsterdam. De Poorter seems to have moved back to Haarlem and became known as a painter of biblical, allegorical, and mythological scenes, often, like this one, on a small scale.

Style: Baroque
Christ's body hangs limply on the Cross, his head bowed and his eyes closed. A trickle of congealing blood seeps from the wound at his right rib. Just beyond the Cross, in the distance, we can see the figures of the Three Marys, Christ's female followers, on their way home, leaving only the Virgin Mary and John the Evangelist to support Christ in his final moments.

Mary -- whose figure is the best preserved part of the picture, the surface of which is badly abraded (rubbed) -- kneels before the Cross. Resting her hands on her knees, palms down and eyes closed, her whole body seems to be sinking into the ground: she is heavy with grief, absorbed in her pain. John, on the other hand, looks up at Christ, his arms outstretched in frustration or disbelief.

Christ's body is set against the backdrop of the sky; he no longer occupies the same physical terrain as Mary and John. Antonello has composed the picture with a low viewpoint so that we feel as though we are looking up at Christ, in the same way we might look up at a Crucifix placed upon an altar. This association is a reminder that Christ's death was, for Christians, part of God's plan, and that it would come to be celebrated by the Christian Church as an act of salvation.

When this picture was acquired by the National Gallery in 1884 it was framed in the shape of a narrow arch -- a section had been added to the top and the upper corners had been removed. It was immediately restored to its original rectangular shape -- the shape of the artist's other Crucifixions -- and the cartellino inscribed with Antonello's signature and the date he made the painting, once on the reverse of the panel, was moved to the bottom of the picture and protected by two strips of wood on either side, added at the same time.

It was not unusual for Antonello to sign and date his pictures in this way (see for example his Christ Blessing). Like that picture, the date of this one is debated. The first three numbers of the date are legible as '147', but the final number is too damaged to read. We now think the picture was made in 1475, the same year that Antonello painted a larger version of the subject (Royal Museum of Fine Arts Antwerp).

The Antwerp picture -- which also includes the two thieves who were crucified alongside Christ -- bears a strong resemblance to Jan van Eyck's version now in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. Both scenes include lots of details taken from the biblical accounts of the Crucifixion, emphasising the very public nature of this kind of execution. Our picture owes some debt to Netherlandish versions of the subject by van Eyck and other painters, which were usually also painted on a small scale, with Christ's slender body isolated high above the figures below and in front of broad landscape background. Antonello has simplified his composition to aid meditation upon Christ's sacrifice and suffering.

Style: Early Renaissance
The Virgin Mary and Christ Child are seated in a leafy grove, accompanied by an angel and the young Saint John the Baptist, Christ's cousin. Saint John wears his traditional camel-skin robe and holds a cross wound with a scroll inscribed ‘ECCE AGNUS DEI’ ('Behold the Lamb of God'), referring to Christ’s future sacrifice for humankind.

Saint John presents a lemon to Christ, who points to the fruit and looks at us. The inclusion of the lemon is very unusual and is sometimes said to allude to the weaning of Christ, when Christ ceased to drink his mother’s milk and tasted the bitterness of his earthly destiny. The angel looks away as he touches the veil at the back of the Virgin's neck. The green of the angel’s cloak, the tilt of his head and his downcast eyes mirror those of Saint John.

The citron or etrog tree is mentioned in the Bible. In Leviticus 23: 40 Moses commands that its first fruits are offered to God in thanksgiving. In the Song of Solomon (2: 3) it becomes a symbol of the beloved or Christ: ‘As a citron among trees of the forest, So is my beloved among the sons, In his shade I delighted, and sat down, And his fruit is sweet to my palate’. In Morando's painting, the lemon is noticeably the only or first fruit in the grove, suggesting that Saint John is offering it in thanksgiving to Christ as the son of God. The Baptist and infant Christ both react differently  -- the Baptist looks away sadly with the foreknowledge of Christ's crucifixion, but the infant Christ points to the fruit and turns to us, accepting his destiny and reminding us to give thanks.

Morando and contemporary viewers in Verona, where he worked, would have been familiar with this iconography. A lemon tree features prominently behind the Virgin and Child and Saint Anne in the central panel of the altarpiece for S. Maria della Scala, Verona, painted by Gerolamo dai Libri at about the same time. Morando painted a panel of Saint Roch as one of  the flanking wings of the altarpiece. In the central panel, the lemon tree is in an enclosed garden, and Christ, the Virgin, and her mother Saint Anne sit on each other's laps in its shade, like a family tree. Gerolamo dai Libri painted another very similar altarpiece, also including a lemon tree, behind the Virgin and Saint Anne, in S. Paolo in Campo Marzio, Verona, and another appears in his Madonna and Child with Saints Lorenzo Giustiniani and Zeno (1526) in San Giorgio in Braida, Verona. A single lemon is also placed as an offering before the Virgin and Child's throne in Gerolamo dai Libri's Madonna dell'ombrello (Museo di Castelvecchio, Verona) dated 1530.

Morando's painting is signed at the top right corner: PAVLVS./ V (with abbreviation signifying ver) P̅, meaning ‘Paolo from Verona painted this’.  The faces of the Virgin, Child and Saint John are in good condition, although other parts of the painting have been rubbed and restored.

Style: High Renaissance
Something -- or someone -- has interrupted the Virgin Mary's reading. The pages of the small Bible on her knee flap as she moves; she appears to recoil from whatever she can see over her right shoulder. The painting has been cut down on all four sides -- Mary's halo has been cut in half -- and was probably part of a large image which included the angel Gabriel, the cause of her surprise.

Gabriel brought her the news that she would conceive a child by the Holy Ghost and that he would be the son of God (Luke 1: 26--38). If you look closely at the upper left-hand part of the picture, you'll see a series of fine lines incised into the panel. These once surrounded the dove of the Holy Ghost, often depicted emanating golden rays.

The Virgin is seated against the backdrop of a hazy wild landscape with rocky precipices on one side and an ordered city with bridges and classical-style buildings on the other. Her elaborate carved wooden seat is as much a feature of the picture as she is; these kinds of chairs were fashionable in the Renaissance. It is transformed into a throne by the addition of a slender backrest and canopy, which is improbably small in relation to her head. To the right is a white marble pilaster, painted to look as though it has been carved with decorative foliage, its dark outlines confidently painted with a fine brush.

Strong dark lines can also be seen through the paint surface, particularly in the Virgin's hands and neck. This is the design Tura drew onto the panel before he began to paint. He used repeated parallel lines to indicate the shape and volume of forms. Visible underdrawing is characteristic of Tura's painting, partly because of the slightly rubbed surface of some of the works, but also because there was so much of it. It can also be seen very clearly in his painting of Saint Jerome. His method of outlining features is very recognisable and can sometimes, as here, appear exaggerated and unnatural. This was probably a self-conscious decision, intended to distinguish him from other artists and to highlight his inventiveness. He favoured adding or over-emphasising curves in the outlines of physical features, so the Virgin's ears and lips here, for example, are made up of several round and crescent shapes; her knuckles seem excessively bony.

The way in which her fingertips but not her palms touch in prayer resembles the work of the Netherlandish painter Rogier van der Weyden -- see the gloved hands of the bishop on the right in The Exhumation of Saint Herbert. Tura's painting technique also reflects that of Rogier, for his skill in using oil paint. Although this is a picture made much later than the finest example of Tura's oil painting, A Muse (Calliope?), he has used egg tempera with a few areas painted using walnut oil.

This picture has suffered considerable damage, particularly in the Virgin's face, due to a split in the wood. These areas of loss have been restored by the National Gallery's conservation team.

Style: Early Renaissance
This portrait is probably of Francesco Albani, from one of the leading families of Bergamo; the initials 'FA' are painted in reverse on his signet ring. During the sixteenth century Italy was not a unified country, but a series of city states, duchies and republics, under their own or under Spanish or French rule. The Albani supported Venetian rule in Bergamo, but after the defeat of the Venetians at the Battle of Agnadello in 1509 Francesco Albani surrendered the city to the King of France, who occupied most of the surrounding territory.

Although the Venetians retook the city, Albani was one of those who had to negotiate its surrender again in 1515, this time to the Spanish army. When the Spanish withdrew from the city, Albani was one of the delegates sent to Venice in 1517 to reaffirm Bergamo's loyalty. He was created a Knight of San Marco by the Venetians in 1516.

Cariani was from Bergamo, but Albani may have met him while in Venice. Like many of his fellow citizens, Cariani returned to Bergamo once more peaceful times arrived. Albani was an official of the Scuola di San Giuseppe (the confraternity of Saint Joseph) in Bergamo, which in 1517 commissioned an altarpiece for the church of S. Gottardo from Cariani.

This portrait may have been painted in 1517 when Albani was part of the delegation to Venice, on which occasion he wore 'gold cloth in the French style with a massive gold chain round his neck'. A similar robe and chain are worn by Ottaviano Vimercati, another city elder of Bergamo, in Cariani's signed altarpiece of the Resurrection dated 1520 (Brera, Milan). This portrait may show Albani in the very robe he wore on that occasion. The cloth has a design of stylised pomegranates, curving branches and scrolling acanthus leaves. The contrast of the interlocking green rectangles of fabric with the near-circular gold robe creates a powerful and striking composition.

It may be significant that Albani has a beard in this portrait. In 1509 the French had ordered the men of Bergamo to shave their beards and by a decree of June 1511 had imposed a 100 ducat fine for wearing them, as beards were considered a Venetian style. In Venice beards were associated with mourning and political distress, which may have been why the French objected to them.

Many experts have argued that another version of this portrait, which was in the collection of the Counts Albani in Borgo S. Antonio in the late eighteenth century (now in a private collection), is the original. It has the arms of the Albani family added beside the sitter's right sleeve but not the reversed FA on the gold seal ring -- a detail that a copyist might exclude. However, the picture is more likely to be a replica.

The National Gallery's painting has been extensively retouched and large areas of the curtain and tablecloth have been overpainted, possibly because the original green paint has darkened. The outlines of the hands have been strengthened as have some portions of the beard and hair.

Style: High Renaissance
The holy family rest as they flee from Bethlehem to Egypt, trying to escape King Herod's order that all boys under two be killed. The Virgin Mary sits on a low wall that encloses a courtyard and a fountain. She has opened her dress and chemise to reveal her right breast, evidently to feed her son. Saint Joseph stands behind the wall and bends over to offer a dish of fruit -- grapes, apples, cherries and perhaps a pear -- to Christ. Their donkey, saddled and ready to go, grazes quietly in the field behind them.

In the background are blue mountains, and on the left is a large town with many high buildings, including a circular edifice that is perhaps a temple. A highway leads from the town, across an arched bridge and towards an immense castle built on the crags behind Joseph's head. On the left, in the fields below the town, a ploughman is at work, and the miracle of the corn -- a very popular story in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries -- is taking place. Herod's soldiers, pursuing the holy family, meet a peasant who tells them, truthfully, that a mother and child had passed that way when he was sowing his wheat. The wheat had grown and ripened miraculously overnight.

Growing behind the wall is a fig tree. This was the first tree mentioned in the Bible, its leaves used by Adam and Eve to conceal their nakedness (Genesis 3: 7). It might also stand for the palm tree which, during the flight into Egypt, bent down at Christ's command to give his mother its fruit. Christ reaches out to touch an apple, which identifies him as the second Adam, as he was sacrificed on the Cross to redeem humankind from the Fall. The grapes refer to the Eucharist, while cherries are sometimes described as 'the fruits of Paradise'.

The fountain is in the form of a gilded statue of a small winged boy who carries an arrow and is urinating into the basin. He is perhaps Cupid, and maybe an allusion to the legend of how the pagan idols of Egypt fell as Christ passed by (as in The Flight into Egypt by Goossen van der Weyden).

The panel once had an arched top, like The Crucifixion by Quinten Massys. There are obvious similarities between this painting and The Concert, the key work by the Master of the Female Half-Lengths (Schloss Rohrau, near Vienna). The Virgin's head is very similar to those of the women in that painting, both in facial type and in the treatment of light and shadow. The thumbs and fingers are similarly distorted and the ways in which the figures are arranged, with a strong diagonal emphasis, are much the same. The two were probably painted around the same time, which, from the ladies' clothes in The Concert, may have been around 1540. A Female Head is also closely related to this painting in all respects.

Style: High Renaissance
An old man playing a lute and wearing a bright blue and yellow minstrel’s outfit is the focus of this gloomy tavern scene. He hunches over in concentration as he tunes the strings, one leg propped up on a slab for support and the other stretched out, continuing the diagonal line created by the neck of the instrument. To the left, an old woman holds up sheet music, her mouth slightly open as if ready to sing.

Two books of songs -- one inscribed ‘BASO’, for the bass voice part -- lie on the table; it's unclear whether the man peering over the woman's shoulder is the bass part of the musical trio or just a curious audience. Also on the table are a jug and a single filled wine glass, perhaps a drink lined up for the lutenist. A small owl watches from a window in the unadorned wall, and while it is naturalistic enough, it is most likely a symbolic device, possibly indicating sinfulness. Another cryptic detail is the curling piece of paper tacked above the hearth, which shows a sketched portrait of a sitter whose profile is much like that of the man standing below.

This painting is possibly a work by the Flemish painter David Teniers the Younger; it is rendered in his style of the mid-1630s. However, it displays uncharacteristic weakness of handling in some areas and might be by a lesser artist working in Teniers’ studio, or perhaps a copy of a lost original by the master. The initials 'F/DB' appear on the reverse of the oak panel and may be those of the panel-maker François de Bout.

Style: Baroque