wrmthorne/National_Gallery_style_classification huggingface dataset:
This is a small oil sketch but its composition is ambitious. Giovanni Battista Tiepolo has arranged the figures in a towering pyramid with the Virgin Mary at the top, seated on a cloud. She holds the Christ Child on her knee, grasping his foot firmly as he tugs at her veil.

The saints’ responses unfold in a chain reaction as we are led around the painting by gesture and gaze, while the clouds and swooping cherubs add to the sense of movement. On the right, the outstretched arm of a kneeling priest directs us to the only identifiable saint, Francis of Assisi, who wears the distinctive brown habit of the Franciscans. He bows his head while the priest in yellow beside him looks intently towards the Virgin and Christ. Above them, a female saint, a dagger and martyr's palm beside her, also turns towards Christ; she could be Saint Agnes or Saint Lucy, both of whom died by the sword. The book, skull and crucifix in the foreground provide no clues as to the identities of the kneeling priests, as such objects appear alongside a number of saints in religious paintings.

Although much of the foreground is in shadow, a heavenly glow illuminates the drama. Patches of light catch the faces of the saints turned toward us and emphasise the vibrant colours and shimmering fabrics of the robes, which gather and fall in delicate folds.

This sketch does not relate to any known altarpiece painted by the artist. It is highly finished, despite the use of broad, visible brushstrokes, and could have been made as a small devotional work or as a preliminary sketch for a project that didn't lead to a major work. A grand, arched loggia (open-sided gallery or room) was commonly used as the backdrop in Venetian altarpieces, as can be seen in another of Tiepolo's paintings, Saints Augustine, Louis of France, John the Evangelist and a Bishop Saint. In both works, the architecture frames the action in the foreground as well as giving the composition a sense of depth.

Style: Baroque, Rococo
The Virgin Mary sits on a marble bench in front of a sunlit Italian landscape, her body forming a solid mass which we can almost feel pressing down on the cool stone. There is hardly a cloud in the sky and Mary gazes out with unruffled serenity. Behind her, a placid river wanders through green hills dotted with houses and churches -- there are even the remains of a classical temple on a ridge to the left. A young man strolls along the road on the right, a donkey grazes peacefully on the left. The quiet waters of the river reflect the arches of the bridge almost undisturbed. In the distance, crumbling towers and rocky crags typical of the Veneto Alpine foothills fade to blue mountains.

Only the pose of the Christ Child disturbs the calm. He balances somewhat precariously on his mother's lap, pulling away from her restraining fingers. He holds a small bird, a linnet, perhaps a symbolic allusion to the Passion (although the bird commonly used for this purpose was a goldfinch). The marble bench on which Mary sits might also be a reference to an altar table, on which Christ's sacrifice was reenacted in the Mass.

The artist, Cima da Conegliano, has signed his name on the marble parapet along the front. This was one of his most popular designs, and he and his workshop produced a number of versions of it once he had taken over from Giovanni Bellini as the leading Venetian producer of altarpieces. This panel is a reworking in reverse of a design made for another set, of which another Virgin and Child is one, probably dating from some years previously. The position of Christ has changed: here, he leans away from his mother rather than snuggling up to her, breaking the line of the triangle they form in the other painting and making the whole composition feel less stable. It has been compared to a painting of the same subject now in the Museo Nazionale Atestino, Este, dated to 1504, where the position of the infant Christ makes more sense -- he reaches for the cross held out to him by Saint John the Baptist. The Roman bridge in the background is similar to that in the Saint Sebastian of the Mestre triptych of about 1500--2 (now in the Musée des Beaux-Arts, Strasbourg).

Although they are biblical figures, Christ and his mother have here been transposed to northern Italy of the late fifteenth or early sixteenth century. This trick of placing holy figures in versions of contemporary landscapes was very characteristic of Cima, as seen in a differentVirgin and Child and in Saint Jerome in a Landscape. He perhaps took the idea from Bellini, although Antonello da Messina was also an influence.

The marble parapet along the front serves to push the Virgin and Child back, creating a feeling of three dimensional space, which is then reinforced by the aerial perspective of the landscape behind them. The clear light which infuses the whole painting and the rich colours are also typical of Cima's work.

Style: High Renaissance
This woman's large white headdress, its calligraphic shape made up of stiff angular folds, is striking against the dark background. The bold visual effect of this almost sculptural item of clothing belies the care the artist has taken to describe the details of its construction. The border covering the woman's forehead is made up of a series of parallel folds, or tucks, giving this area a ribbed texture; the edges are stitched and it is held in place at her hairline with pins, the indentations of which are visible. Shading around the folds reinforces the sense of their depth. The artist seems to want us to think that a fly, deceived by his illusion, has attempted to land on the headdress. The insect is, of course, also part of the deception and perhaps intended to reinforce the artist's mastery.

The wall-hanging in the background is also not as simple as it first appears. It is perhaps intended to resemble a woven silk, its pattern of foliage and flowers made up of fibres of a subtly different shade of blue to the rest of it. As the white headdress curls over the woman's shoulder, it differentiates her dress from the hanging, which is made of a similar fabric. Her understated and elegant costume, with its white fur trim and gold fastenings, dates to about 1470.

With slim fingers she gestures towards a sprig of forget-me-nots. The flowers were sometimes a symbol of marriage, so she may have been portrayed to commemorate an engagement, but they also refer to remembrance. Perhaps they are an invitation to remember the sitter through this portrait when absent, or even after her death. As flies could spread disease and were sometimes seen as a symbol of sinfulness, its presence might be intended to ward against evil and illness.

The inscription at the top of the painting reads: GEBORNE HOFERIN. This means that the woman is from the Hofer family, but as this was a common surname in southern Germany at the time it doesn't help to identify her.

Style: Gothic, Early Renaissance
Saint Vincent Ferrer was a Spanish friar and missionary, and a member of the Dominican Order; he was officially declared a saint in 1455. He was particularly venerated in the northern Italian city of Bologna.

This panel formed the central part of a complex polyptych commissioned by Floriano Griffoni for his family's chapel in the church of San Petronio, the main church in Bologna. It was one of the major commissions of Cossa's lifetime. By the time he painted it he was well-established as one of the leading artists of the region along with Cosimo Tura and Ercole de' Roberti. Ercole was responsible for the altarpiece's predella, which is painted with scenes of Saint Vincent's miracles. There's a twentieth-century copy of the predella in our collection.

The polyptych was dismembered when the chapel was renovated, but thanks to an eighteenth-century drawing made before this we can be certain of its original design and its huge scale. It consisted of 21 panels and was just over three metres high and almost three metres wide. The other panels are dispersed in collections worldwide: panels with Saint Peter and Saint John the Baptist (now in the Pinacoteca di Brera, Milan) flanked our panel showing Saint Vincent. An original document recording payment to the frame-maker dates the altarpiece to the early 1470s.

The saint is shown raising a finger demonstratively; he was known as a passionate preacher whose stirring sermons sometimes led his followers to self-flagellation. He holds a book, presumably the Bible, as a reminder of the basis of his words. The beads that hang down on either side of him are probably rosary beads. It was thought that Saint Dominic, founder of the Dominican Order, had established the use of the rosary as an aid to counting through a sequence of prayers to the Virgin Mary. Cossa has used intense, rich colours to give the whole image, especially when contrasted with the black of Saint Vincent's habit, a powerful and striking effect.

Above, Christ is seated in a mandorla (an almond-shaped enclosure) -- a traditional way of symbolising heaven. The gold leaf within it is stippled (indented with a fine round tool) so that in the candlelight of the chapel it would have glowed brightly. The angels who surround him carry the symbols of the Passion, like the column that Christ was tied to when he was whipped and the Cross that he was crucified on. They balance on clouds that look sturdy, as though they are carved from stone -- just like those in Mantegna's  Agony in the Garden.

Like Mantegna, Cossa had an interest in sculpture and painting stone; his father was a sculptor and it is possible that he too practised sculpture. Here he delights in painting ruined classical-style columns and architecture that seem to be built into unusual rock formations. The details of little figures walking through the landscape, through archways and over bridges continue through all the main level panels in the polyptych, so that the three saints shown on them appear to be in the same place, at the same moment.

Style: Early Renaissance
Moretto painted several altarpieces in which the Virgin and Child appear in the clouds. The arrangement here, with groups of saints above and below, is similar to that found in a type of polyptych (a multi-panelled altarpiece) popular around Milan in the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries. In these, three or five saints appear below, with the principal saint in the centre; the Virgin Mary and Christ Child are seated in the clouds above flanked by two or four other saints. It is notable but not unusual that Moretto has divided the saints by gender -- the female saints surround the Virgin, while the male saints congregate below. Three of the saints look up into the clouds, but otherwise there is a very strong division between the two parts of the composition.

The principal saint, Bernardino of Siena, stands in the centre below, silhouetted against the sky. He was a reformer of the Franciscan Order and the most celebrated preacher of his day in Italy. He holds the sign of the name of Jesus (IHS) and a book with a Latin text from the Gospel of John (17: 6): 'I manifested thy name unto the men.' This text was closely associated with Saint Bernardino and often appears in images of him, inscribed above his head or in his halo. The three mitres at his feet represent the bishoprics of Ferrara, Urbino and Siena, which he turned down in order to continue his preaching.

Saint Francis, founder of the Franciscan Order, kneels at front right, gazing up in rapture at the infant Christ. His hands are marked with the stigmata, the sacred wounds he miraculously received as a reward for the intensity of his identification with the suffering Christ. Saint Joseph kneels on the left, holding the staff that burst into flower as a sign he'd been chosen to marry the Virgin. Saint Bernardino particularly promoted the cult of Saint Joseph. Saint Jerome, dressed as a penitent, holds a book and is accompanied by a lion, a reference to his time spent as a hermit. Saint Nicholas of Bari, with a bishop's crosier and mitre, stands behind Saint Francis looking up at Christ. He holds three golden balls which refer to the dowries he gave to three impoverished young women.

The infant Christ, who is seated on the Virgin's lap in the clouds, places a wedding ring on the finger of Saint Catherine of Alexandria, alluding to her vision that she formed a mystic marriage with Christ. The Virgin looks towards Saint Clare, who founded the female branch of the Franciscan Order, the Poor Clares. Beside her is a monstrance, a vessel containing the Host, recalling the legend that she drove away invading Saracens by placing the Host at the entrance to her monastery.

The figures of Saint Jerome, Saint Nicholas, Saint Francis and Saint Joseph were all invented by Moretto for earlier pictures dating from the 1530s. Our painting was probably made for the high altar of a church dedicated to Saint Bernardino and attached to a Franciscan convent. The church cannot have been in Brescia because the elements copied from the earlier altarpieces would have been easily recognised.

Style: High Renaissance
The title of this painting originates from the idea that the man seated in the centre represents Diego Velázquez at the Spanish court, surrounded by royal personages and prominent humanists. The main figures in Velázquez’s Las Meninas (Prado Museum, Madrid) -- including Velázquez himself (wearing the red cross of the Order of Santiago) and the young Spanish princess Margarita -- were believed to be the central protagonists in this painting too. The two men below were thought to represent Juan de Pareja, Velázquez’s former slave and later assistant (lower left), and the Spanish writer Francisco de Quevedo (lower right).

This theory has since been discounted. A more convincing interpretation has been put forward, identifying the main figure as the Count of Santisteban, with his daughter and members of his household. On his sleeve he wears the red cross of the Order of Santiago, of which he became a member in 1672. The count was ruler (viceroy) of Naples between 1687 and 1696, after which he returned to Spain. We know that he owned a ‘large sketch’ by Luca Giordano, the description of which matches this painting. The man wearing pince-nez (spectacles without arms) is Giordano himself -- the artist may have included a self portrait in reference to Velázquez doing the same in Las Meninas.

Giordano moved to Spain in 1692, and this painting probably dates from between 1696 (the year in which the count left Naples for Madrid) and 1702 (when Giordano returned to Naples). It was during his time as court painter in Spain that Giordano had the opportunity to study Velázquez’s works, which made a considerable impression on him. According to the seventeenth-century painter and biographer Antonio Palomino, the Spanish king Charles II showed Giordano Las Meninas and asked him what he thought about it. Giordano replied, 'Sir, this is the Theology of Painting'.

Our painting was thought to be by Velázquez in the nineteenth century, when it was owned by the notable British artist Sir Edwin Landseer (1802--1873). He, like others, must have admired the work for its confident handling of paint and sketch-like quality. The artist has intentionally left the brown preparation ground exposed in a number of areas, and the figures centre left are barely worked up at all. The loose brushwork throughout gives the scene a dynamic sense of immediacy -- the leaping spaniel in the foreground is a particularly lively detail.

Style: Baroque, Academic
Seventeenth-century Dutch winters were notorious for their Arctic cold, with canals and rivers frozen over. In the town that Avercamp takes us to, everyone is out on the ice making the best of it: working, playing, showing off, laughing, complaining, falling over or just about managing to stand up. Boats are frozen in, horses pull sleighs over the ice. The luscious pink castle looks almost like a giant, iced Christmas cake. Birds chirp cheerfully on the leafless branches of the trees.

Hendrick Avercamp led the way in making pictures of 'life on the ice'. His painting career started around the time the Little Ice Age hit Northern Europe; he spent it producing these winter pictures and only rarely left his little town of Kampen -- though the painting shows an imaginary place, not Kampen.

We look down from a height, so that the view of the town and beyond is wide and open. Each tiny figure is no bigger than a fingernail, yet even if they have their back to us, we know what kind of person they are, and we can discover the story of each one. Between the trees near to us, a group of rich and poor alike mingle and indulge in people watching -- just as we do through the round peephole of the picture.

A little to the right of the group, and we're in the realm of real finery. This couple would have spent a fortune on their amazing costumes, hardly suitable for skating but the height of fashion and a must to be shown off. The man's sword is an encumbrance but at least they're well padded if they fall. Further to the right, a splendid sleigh with a gold coat of arms on the back jingles into the picture. Three couples, hand-in-hand, parade up the centre as if in a formal dance.

On the left, by the brown house with a window-shutter that needs mending, a snowball chase is going on: two bad lads are after a girl who has a snowball sticking to her back. A toddler escapes, arms outstretched towards mum and dad, who lean over the gate to see the fun. With a couple of tiny strokes of the brush Avercamp makes the toddler run yelling to them.

In front of the castle sits a man huddled in a blanket, a hat plonked flat on his head. Unbelievably, his legs are bare and his feet appear to be immersed in water through a hole in the ice. A punishment? Some sort of cure perhaps? Just behind him, another man falls with a splash through thinner ice close to the castle wall. And prominent, attached to the side of the tower, a small grey privy -- or toilet -- is put to copious use, regardless of anyone who might be standing below.

Avercamp was acutely aware of bodies in movement, expressing emotion and when making sound. Each minute figure has a distinct, often comic, personality, with a voice. They were prepared in tiny, meticulous drawings, some tinted with watercolour. He then transferred them into the painting with a few economical strokes of the brush, crowding the canvas with cameos of life on the ice. We seem to hear the cries, splashes, chatter, the horse's hooves, the swish of the skates -- the whole exuberant life that comes from his vibrant paintings.

Style: Baroque
In this exuberant painting of a peasant, probably outside an inn, Adriaen van Ostade shows his ability to portray the human condition. We sense the giddiness of the drunken peasant as he sweeps backwards, jug uncovered to drink straight from its neck. His mouth is open -- perhaps he's singing a bawdy song -- and his eyes are watery and unfocused, but he’s happy.

Van Ostade has displayed different textures with almost tangible reality: the glossy, weighty earthenware jug and its tin lid; the flesh of the hand; the creases in the sleeve and the fur collar above. A wisp of hair peeps out from the leather cap beneath the tall felt hat. The face itself is not just caricature, but seemingly flesh and blood -- the slack mouth, the taut red skin of the swollen nose, the sunken, wrinkled eyes and cheeks, and the protruding Adam’s apple. He may be an entertaining, nameless character, but he’s a real person with whom we can engage.

Style: Baroque
The Virgin and Child sit on the edge of a wood between two sawn stumps of olive trees that resemble the arms of a throne. Shoots have grown from each stump and the Virgin bends the taller one towards Christ, who raises his hand as if to grasp it.

The Virgin and Child do not look at each other or the viewer but both focus on the olive branch, emphasising its importance. The olive is symbolic of peace and its vigorous regrowth may suggest the Resurrection, when Christ rose again from the dead. The Virgin's thoughtful expression as she bends the branch towards her son and his eagerness to grasp it perhaps express their acceptance of his fate to die for the salvation of humanity.

A sawn tree with a new shoot is a symbol commonly found in images of the infant Christ or the Nativity and refers to a prophecy in Isaiah 11: 1: 'And there shall come forth a rod out of the stem of Jesse, and a Branch shall grow out of his roots.' This is an Old Testament reference to Christ being born from the family tree of Jesse of Bethlehem, who was the father of King David. A 'Jesse Tree' is an image, in the form of a family tree, of all the ancestors of Christ. Previtali used sawn sprouting tree stumps with a similar symbolic meaning in the background of other paintings, including The Virgin and Child with a Tonsured Supplicant and Saint Catherine of about 1505--6.

Although some of the pigments in Previtali's Virgin and Child with a Shoot of Olive have changed colour over time -- the greens have probably darkened and the flesh now looks bleached -- we gain a sense of his sophisticated approach to colour. The harmonious link between the auburn hair of the Virgin and Child, the yellow lining of the Virgin's cloak and the red of her tunic, and the way their brilliance is enhanced by the blues and greens, is characteristic of Previtali's best work. So is the mastery of aerial perspective in the receding lines of pale blue hills and mountains, which reflect the way that objects appear to change in the distance, losing their detail and contrast and appearing more blue.

The barely visible animal resting on the ground beneath the trees on the left is a curious feature. The creature is very dark and the pigment around it has also darkened, making it difficult to see clearly, but it appears to be either a cow or a donkey. It seems to have a cross on its back like the donkey that carried Christ into Jerusalem, suggesting that perhaps the Virgin and Child have broken their journey here.

Damage has affected the painting's appearance. There are losses where the paint has blistered. Later retouching has discoloured and is most noticeable as darker patches in the ultramarine of the Virgin's cloak and its yellow lining.

Style: High Renaissance
Jakob Schlesinger made this tracing in 1822 of the Sistine Madonna by the Italian Renaissance artist Raphael. Drawn in pencil, the tracing is formed of 24 pieces of paper pasted together and mounted on a canvas the same size as the painting. Schlesinger was a painter and picture restorer who was active in Dresden from 1820 to 1823, before moving to Berlin.

In 1512 Raphael was commissioned by Pope Julius II to paint the Sistine Madonna as an altarpiece for the church of San Sisto in Piacenza. Flanked by Saint Sixtus and Saint Barbara, the Virgin Mary stands on clouds as she holds the infant Christ. At the bottom of the picture, two winged cherubs rest their heads upon their arms. Completed in 1513, this was one of the last Madonnas that Raphael painted -- he died aged only 37 -- and was described by the historian Vasari as ‘a truly rare and extraordinary work'.

Following its purchase for a record price in 1754 by Augustus III of Poland, the picture was relocated to Dresden, where it is now in the Gemäldegalerie. Judged by many at the time to be one of the world’s great paintings, it had a significant influence on German art, especially Romantic painting.

Style: Neoclassical