wrmthorne/National_Gallery_style_classification huggingface dataset:
Many seventeenth-century Dutch skating scenes raise the spirits. They tell, usually with a sense of fun, of life on the ice -- on the frozen rivers and canals during the 'Little Ice Age' that hit Europe and the Netherlands in particular. They were painted as a kind of entertainment. This doesn't appear to be one of them; the artist seems to tell us, perhaps more truthfully, of the hardship of such a winter. Life did go on, but was laborious and took its toll.

The huge expanse of sky is grey, with clouds banked up ready for snow; the pub roof is almost falling in; the tree raises stark, bare branches; and the white horse outside the pub hangs its head under a threadbare blanket. Wind rustles through the yellow grass. The wide, distant landscape is misty; a journey across it hardly tempting. Two men cross the ice, their sledge heavy with barrels, and an old woman, bundled up and pushed along, slumps over. The set of her driver's shoulders suggest it's not a merry journey.

In the Dutch Republic at this time, paintings were a very important means of entertainment -- they were on the wall to be enjoyed, discussed and constantly rediscovered. A picture of real life that was unrelieved gloom wouldn't have been saleable, unless perhaps it held a moral message. These scenes of busy outdoor life, summer or winter, were meant to hold moments of interest that had to be teased out. Although it's not immediately evident, this picture does exactly that.

In among the greyness are warmer colours and moments of relief. At one side of the snow-filled sky is a tinge of pink. The sun may not be visible, but it's not far away. The many different browns -- in the clothes of the peasants, the animals and the run-down inn -- bring warmth. The two men have a faithful old dog to keep them company and those barrels are going somewhere to be opened and enjoyed. Another dog sniffs about, tail wagging. The man on the boat stuck in the ice puts on his skates. If his boat won't move, he will.

The woman in black outside the inn braves the elements. She wears no hat over her carefully coiffed ringlets and high bun, and no coat over her expensive satin dress and pristine white collar: pride wins over comfort it would seem. She bends over to adjust the scarf of the man sitting in front of her, their long-suffering maidservant at one side, her hands under a flimsy cloth to keep out the chill.

For some years the picture was thought to be by Isack van Ostade, a skilled and successful Haarlem artist who died young. When it was cleaned, it was discovered to be inferior to his work. It was probably done by a follower or a student. The painting is rough, faces little more than a couple of brushstrokes, but an artist, however humble, who puts winter flowering plants among the thatch of a dilapidated inn on an icy winter's day perhaps deserves celebration of a different kind.

Style: Baroque
Like many of the early Italian paintings in our collection, this picture is a fragment of a large altarpiece.  It shows a story taken from the Golden Legend, a thirteenth-century text that is a rich source for stories about the life of the Virgin Mary before the birth of Christ, which is not described in the Bible. This scene shows her wedding to Joseph and is also full of details about their engagement.

According to the Golden Legend Mary's suitors were invited to the temple, each armed with a wooden rod. They were in competition for Mary's hand in marriage which, they were told, would be won by the man whose rod bloomed. Here, Joseph holds a rod that is lush with olive leaves, the Holy Ghost in the form of a dove nestled in its branches -- a sign of divine approval. Behind him unsuccessful suitors break their barren rods in frustration, a detail which also comes from the Golden Legend. The Sienese painter Niccolò di Buonaccorso also included these elements in his little panel showing the Virgin's marriage.

This compact scene is arranged in three sections -- much like contemporary altarpieces -- with one larger central section and two smaller flanking sections. The pillars and arches of the architecture divide the painting, and the main action takes place under the central archway. The arched windows resemble contemporary Gothic church or palace architecture, rather than that of a Jewish temple where Mary might have worshipped. The division of the picture into three parts follows a pattern set by the artist's Sienese predecessors, who painted scenes from the Virgin's life for the cathedral (Duomo) in Siena in the mid-1340s. Gregorio, a native of the city, would have known these well.

The wood grain of the panel is horizontal, suggesting that it was once part of a long, horizontal plank of wood painted with multiple scenes, called a predella. Two other predella panels have been connected with this image. One shows the Crucifixion (now in the Museuo dell' Opera del Duomo, Siena) and the other shows the birth of Virgin (now in the Pinacoteca Vaticana, Rome). The scenes from the life of the Virgin are the same size and probably framed the Crucifixion, which is slightly longer.

While it is not certain that this work was painted by Gregorio, it is likely to have been; it bears a resemblance to the only signed work by him (now in the Pinacoteca, Siena) which shows the Virgin Mary feeding the Christ Child while seated on the ground.

Style: Gothic, Early Renaissance
This is the central panel from the predella of Ugolino's altarpiece for the church of Santa Croce in Florence. The predella ran along the bottom of the entire altarpiece and was, as was usual, originally painted on one horizontal panel. It was then cut into individual scenes. There are three others in our collection: The Betrayal of Christ, The Deposition and The Resurrection.

Christ has been stripped of the deep blue robe that he wore in the image showing his betrayal. Ugolino shows him carrying his cross to the site of his crucifixion, as described in the Gospel of John (John 19: 17), and includes the 'great multitude of the people' who follow Christ on his way (Luke 23: 27).

Christ's deep pink robe and the structure of the Cross anchor the scene. The Virgin Mary, Christ's mother, is the other prominent figure. She is accompanied by two other women, probably the female followers of Christ mentioned in the Gospels, both also called Mary; one of them, Mary Magdalene, was traditionally shown wearing red. The Virgin is shown, as was traditional, wearing a blue robe -- it was painted with ultramarine, an expensive pigment which has a tendency to change colour over time, as it has here. The soldiers' helmets have also darkened over time -- they were once silver.

Like The Betrayal of Christ, this composition is based upon Duccio's image of the same subject made for the altarpiece known as the Maestà. Ugolino places the figure of Christ further to the right of the picture so that he has to turn back to look towards his mother, increasing the emotion of the moment. The Roman soldiers who arrested Jesus appear, armed with a variety of weapons to push Christ onward; on the other side, a servant pulls him by a rope tied around his neck. We also see the Jewish priests who were present at Christ's arrest.

This panel was the central part of the predella. It was preceded by a scene of the Flagellation (now in the Gemäldegalerie, Berlin) and one of the Deposition. The Cross, placed centrally within the design of the panel, would have been situated below the figure of Christ enthroned shown on the central panel. That picture in turn was crowned with an image of the Crucifixion, absent from the predella series. This emphasis on the Cross was appropriate for the church -- it was named after the Holy Cross.

Style: Gothic, Early Renaissance
The painting has been known as The Origin of the Milky Way since about 1857 but 'The Nursing of Hercules', as it was known in the eighteenth century, would be a more accurate title. The picture is an allegory as well as a mythological narrative. What we see now is only part of the original painting: about a third of Tintoretto's original canvas was cut off the bottom at some time before 1727.

Jupiter attempted to attain immortality for his son Hercules, whose mother was the mortal Alcmene, by placing him on the breast of his sleeping wife, the goddess Juno, to drink her milk. She awoke and the milk that spurted from her breast formed the Milky Way -- the haze of which as seen in the bright night sky seems to be suggested by the flowing cloud cover at centre right, behind the eagle. This is the episode depicted in the painting we see today. Juno is accompanied by her attribute of peacocks, while Jupiter is accompanied by an eagle clutching a lightning bolt.

A reduced copy of the original painting, probably made in the seventeenth century (private collection, Germany), provides evidence about the missing lower part of the composition. In the lower part of the copy a nude woman reclines on a bank with a large body of water behind her. Roots grow from the ends of the fingers of her right hand, which dangles on the bank; shoots grow from the fingers of her left hand, which she extends upwards. There are large white flowers growing in the right hand corner.

Tintoretto probably knew the version of the myth of the Nursing of Hercules written in the Geoponica, a Byzantine textbook on botany -- then believed to have been written by the Emperor Constantine -- which was translated into Italian and printed in Venice in 1542 and 1549. In that version of the story, the milk from one of Juno's breasts is said to have fallen down to earth and created the milk-white flowers of the lily. The woman reclining in the now-missing part of the painting is probably Ops, the embodiment of Earth and mother of Juno and Jupiter.

The subject is very rare in art but features on the back of a medal commemorating Tommaso Rangone of about 1560 (one of which is in the British Museum, London). Rangone was closely associated with Tintoretto and commissioned the famous series of paintings from him of the Miracles of Saint Mark for the Scuola Grande di San Marco in Venice. It is likely that The Origin of the Milky Way is also connected to Rangone in some way and may have been commissioned by him. Rangone was a physician and astrologer; in Alessandro Vittoria's memorial to him on the facade of the church of S. Giuliano in Venice he is shown holding flowers and between earthly and celestial spheres. The Origin of the Milky Way may reflect some of Rangone's interests, as stars and flowers were both important to his learning. Tintoretto's painting may function as an allegory of the physician's art as practised by Rangone, with special reference to his particular interest in promoting longevity (in the painting Jupiter is attempting to make Hercules immortal), which was central to Rangone's whole career.

Style: High Renaissance
In the grey early light of morning, on a glassy sea, the boats in van de Cappelle's painting hardly seem to move. There's no wind, the sails are hardly filled, nothing disturbs the water. Even the clouds seem buoyed up in the air like balloons bouncing along gently in the vast sky.

Close to us, an old fence has collapsed. It's as if the tide has swept it away to give us a better view of the tranquil scene: fishermen in small craft almost as motionless as the water, waiting for a catch, and a boat with its topsail hoisted to catch what little breeze there is. On the left is a smallschip (a small craft designed for sailing close to shore) with the Dutch flag hanging limp. Far away on the right is the tower of a church that resembles Saint Lawrence's in Rotterdam.

You will find van de Cappelle's sense of calm, of limpid light and huge distance in his other paintings, for example A River Scene with Dutch Vessels Becalmed and Vessels Moored off a Jetty.

Style: Baroque
A shepherd sleeps on a bank on the edge of a wood, his dog curled up beside him and his crook laid carefully on the grass. The sun is bright but gives a cool light and seemingly little heat. The sky is cloudless -- a crisp, clear blue -- and the feathery new leaves of the trees are outlined sharply against it. The wood looks deep, with the suggestion of an overgrown pathway leading away behind the shepherd's head.

The sheep are beautifully painted. With quick flicks of the brush, Adriaen van de Velde was able to create the sensation that their tight, wiry curls and spindly legs, as well as the fresh, tufty grass they crop, are tangible. His greatest skill was in the depiction of figures and animals. He left many red chalk drawings of sheep, cows, dogs and of human models, all made from life, and he used them regularly in his paintings. His detail is always impeccable. In this picture the standing sheep is advanced in the late spring moult, while others on the ground behind it still have their heavy, shaggy coats. This would suggest that, while sheep shearing had been carried out since medieval times in Holland, these fleeces will peel naturally to be gathered up by hand, rather than being clipped.

Adriaen van de Velde was one of several artists who were successful in providing these peaceful views. This is an early work, painted when van de Velde was influenced by two other major landscape artists -- Karel Dujardin and Paulus Potter. They also portrayed scenes with a screen of dark trees behind quietly grazing or resting animals, delicately painted in a pool of sunlight. Figures beside them, equally tranquil, sat idling away their time, or slept like van de Velde’s shepherd (for other examples, see Dujardin's Farm Animals in the Shade of a Tree, with a Boy and a Sleeping Herdswoman and Potter's A Landscape with Cows, Sheep and Horses by a Barn).

In seventeenth-century Holland, pictures of rural idylls of this kind were eagerly sought by collectors. These were not just wealthy merchants or the nobility, but middle-class people too. New money meant that they could look on the countryside as a place of leisure and relaxation to be remembered in the middle of a busy urban life. Because the cities were small and rural areas accessible, city dwellers also understood farming, and livestock in particular, as an important source of prosperity for the nation.

Style: Baroque
During the seventeenth century, the Dutch Republic was frequently at war, often with England. It's possible that this is a picture of a fleet preparing for battle.

The sea is quiet, but there is a sense of urgency in the scene. A crowd of small boats pull out from the shore, the men rowing powerfully as if in a hurry. Others thrust out eager hands towards puffs of smoke from the cannon of two vessels firing a salute -- the Statenjacht (state yacht) with the tall sails and the Admiral’s flagship to which it travels. The Statenjacht transported members of the government or visiting dignitaries to visit the Admiral before setting sail, and flies the ensign of the States General. Beyond, more warships gather, appearing little more than shadows on the horizon but adding to the impression of a busy seaway even in a calm.

Style: Baroque
The lady in Bartholomeus van der Helst's portrait may be unknown now, but she appears to have been a woman of some status. Standing out against a severe, plain black background, her clothes announce this status, her wealth -- and little else. Although she appears modest and unassuming, her gaze is direct and steady.

With no attempt at flattery, van der Helst painted her wispy hair hanging unfashionably straight under a long lace cap, accentuating her high forehead and the length of her face. He highlights her deep-set brown eyes with a flick of white paint, echoed in the glistening pearl earrings hanging above her collar.

The ring on her finger looks like gold. It's on the fourth finger of her left hand, but that doesn't prove she's married -- it simply suggests she's rich. (It would appear that, at the time, Dutch women could wear a wedding ring on any finger of either hand, or not at all, according to choice.) The black satin of her gown was fashionable and costly, the handmade lace prohibitively expensive -- especially lace of such quality and quantity (there are three tiers to her wide collar). In this, van der Helst's lady bears a resemblance to the sitter in Frans Hals's Portrait of a Woman with a Fan, whose costume is remarkably similar, and is also an obvious sign of status and wealth.

The lady in van der Helst's portrait holds her delicately decorated stomacher out towards us, for our admiration perhaps. The embroidery incorporates silver thread and pearl beads, making this uncomfortable, restraining garment appear sparkling and almost frivolous. She also presents her fan, its bow -- like the one at her breast -- made partly of silver thread; the fan would have been hand painted, perhaps with flowers or a scene from a Greek myth. With a little smile, the woman in Hals's portrait daintily holds out a gold chain and an ostrich-feather fan; another, in Portrait of a Woman (Marie Larp?), displays the complex and opulent gold embroidery on her stomacher by framing it with her fingers. The anonymous lady by van der Helst seems much less anxious to impress.

Painted around the same time, all three portraits seem to be as much about the cost and opulence of the clothes as about the women portrayed. Two of them seem quite content to make a feature of their wealth and sense of fashion, but van der Helst's lady seems disengaged from her gestures of display.

Style: Baroque
This work is almost a portrait of a building: the imposing facade of the Palazzo Grimani fills nearly the entire composition, towering above the surrounding houses along the Grand Canal. Boatmen emerge from the left and right just in front of us, giving the scene a sense of movement. Further back we can just make out several figures on the steps of the palace, one in a cloak beneath a grand archway and another on the balcony above -- all made up of dots and daubs of paint.

Palazzo Grimani was one of the outstanding buildings of Renaissance Venice, and was one of many properties owned by the illustrious Grimani family, who played a prominent role in the life of the city. The palace was built between 1556 and 1575 for Gerolamo Grimani, Procurator of San Marco, and designed by the architect Michele Sanmicheli as his Venetian masterpiece. After Sanmicheli's death, it was completed by Gian Giacomo de' Grigi, who added the third storey.

The palace was much admired during the eighteenth century. Antonio Visentini, Italian architect and engraver, illustrated it in his Admiranda Urbis Venetae, a series of architectural drawings of Venetian palaces, made between 1745 and 1755. Canaletto would certainly have been aware of these drawings, which were commissioned by Joseph Smith, British consul in Venice and the artist's most devoted patron (they are now in the British Library, London). This picture is one of a group of views of individual palaces -- for example, Palazzo Vendramin-Calergi, Palazzo Corner della Ca' Grande, Palazzo Pesaro and Palazzo Balbi -- painted by Canaletto during his mature years spanning the late 1750s. While Canaletto's views are not strictly architectural records like Visentini's drawings, he must have been responding to a demand for specific representations of these landmarks.

We don't know exactly when Canaletto painted Palazzo Grimani, but it was probably after his return to Venice from London in 1755; he died in 1768. He liked to work on a smaller scale during his mature years -- see Piazza San Marco and Piazza San Marco and the Colonnade of the Procuratie Nuove, which were painted around the same time -- perhaps influenced by the demands of those who bought his pictures. His touch became lighter and freer, and he used strict dark outlines to create architectural details and muted colours applied with great assurance.

In 1806 the Palazzo Grimani became the main post office in Venice. In his book The Stones of Venice, first published in 1853, the English historian and art critic John Ruskin praised the building's delicate decoration, symmetry and colossal scale -- 'not a erring line, nor a mistaken proportion, throughout its noble front' -- even calling it one of the greatest 'Roman Renaissance' buildings in Europe. Today the building remains a notable landmark as the Court of Appeal.

Style: Rococo, Neoclassical
This painting is very similar to but roughly half the size of another landscape by Aelbert Cuyp: A Distant View of Dordrecht, with a Milkmaid and Four Cows, and Other Figures. We don't know which was painted first, but the mood, the lighting and the focus on the cows with the city of Dordrecht in the background are immediately recognisable. Presumably one of Cuyp’s clients saw and liked one of the paintings, and asked him for a bigger or smaller version.

Most of Cuyp’s customers were wealthy merchants in his hometown of Dordrecht, and several of these had land and property in the countryside beyond; almost certainly they would have had an interest in dairy farming. Cows were a national success story. The seventeenth century had seen improvements in breeding stock, better feeding practice and increasing reclamation of flooded land -- low-lying pasture was much better for cattle than sheep. Cheese and butter were not only national staples, they were now key exports. In short, cattle represented wealth, peaceful prosperity and plenty.

We sense that happy state in this painting. The cows seem to have a presence in the landscape which is as permanent and solid as the church and windmills beyond. The mood is more soporific than in the larger version, however. The sky seems slightly less luminous, the sun is lower and more of the painting is in shadow. Three of the cows seem to be on the verge of sleep, while the herdsman and the dog have already dropped off. The day’s labour, it seems, is over. But a similar sense of ease and contentment prevails. And Cuyp has used the same subtle sequence of pictorial planes to knit together the composition, from the dark foreground of weeds and brambles to the light-dappled cows, the shadowy cottages and windmills, then Dordrecht itself, bathed in the evening light.

He has also opened out the landscape slightly more towards the east, where the city suburbs encroach even more closely. The rickety patched-up fence -- Cuyp has signed his name on the top rail -- gives a slight sense of benign neglect. There is more emphasis on the cows in this version -- no distracting milkmaids or children here. And, unlike the larger picture where the cattle are kept almost entirely below the horizon, here the central standing animal hogs a good part of the skyline, obliterating most of the church nave in the distance. Cuyp has also added an extra cow to the composition -- a black and white one. Perhaps this was just for effect and variation, or perhaps his client was experimenting with a new breed.

Style: Baroque